I have been invited by MetaPlace®, a platform for building gaming world's, to build a role playing game based on my series of short stories about Simpleton, MS. Though the name "Simpleton" conjures derisive images of this mythical town, that is completely deceiving. Simpleton, and the people who have populated it from before its official founding have been the most interesting fellows. They have manifested and suffered from all the foibles and passions that have swept the nation and the world during the long period of their existence.
I am publishing this first of a series of Simpleton stories. It is my hope that readers will think about this place and its people. In time, once it is built, I hope you will join the world of Simpleton and take your place among their noble number.
In the meantime, I hope you check back frequently for new installments of the Simpleton story and be thinking of becoming one of their number and writing your own chapter in this saga. If you have any questions or thoughts relating to Simpleton, please use the contact page to tell them to me.
12/08/2008: Now comes the fourth in the Simpleton Series. This tale, "Esmerelda's View," contains a familiar theme concerning the risks some humans must and will take to accomplish the most basic of achievements. This story follows those that have been published here previously. I hope, as always, you enjoy it.
11/14/08: I have now posted a third Simpleton story following the original immediately below the second published last week. There are now three stories, each from a different time in Simpleton's history. This one is entitled "Nasty Boy" and tells the story of an African slave and his life in Simpleton. I hope you enjoy it and will let me know what you think of it.
The History of Simpleton, MS
There is no point attempting any humor at the expense of the citizens of the place. The town has been in existence for more than two hundred and twenty-five years and English has been the commonly spoken language for almost two hundred of those years. The word meant the same thing for each and every one of those years. Anybody many the joke must know that they have heard it all by now. They had, in all probability, heard it all by the year 1800. They have been hearing it over and over again for well over two centuries. There is not, cannot possibly be, anything new and witty that can be said on the subject.
The citizens have been ennobled by the centuries of suffering that has been their lot. It is a curious fact of human existence that constant suffering, if it does not break the spirit, imparts an air of grace to its victim. Such a grace settled upon the citizens many ages past. This grace has become such a part of the community it is no longer a learned
response. It is now hereditary, somehow imbedded in the DNA of these inhabitants.
It all started innocently enough. Indeed, if one knows the history, and all citizens do, it has an irresistible logic to it. The history is imbued with a certain elegance.
In the early 1700’s the first Europeans moved into the Pearl River Valley in what is now the State of Mississippi. It may help if one keeps in mind, as the citizens do, that it has not yet been the State of Mississippi for a majority of the town’s European history. Though the town will never change location, no one expects it to remain always the State of Mississippi. If life in the town and its environs teaches nothing else, it definitely teaches that nothing, save grace, is constant. Change, even it the midst of stability, is constantly afoot.
Anyway, in the early 1700’s folk from the new French settlement at Mobile began to wander into the Valley. The first rush of explorers and trappers had combed the land and moved on to the more promising tributary basins of the Mississippi River system. By the early 1700’s, the folk coming into the valley were more interested in establishing permanent trading posts. They sought to trade for the wealth of the native population, those we have come to call Indians. Soon the new settlers began to farm and manage the abundant and fertile lands of the valley. Before anyone knew why or how, the new settlers had begun to evolve a planter culture.
African slaves were imported from the Islands of the West Indies and from Africa itself. Land holdings became larger and the native peoples were driven further into the interior. The planters became quite prosperous. They barged the wealth they created down the Pearl River to the Gulf coast and on to Mobile and the newer village of New Orleans. They barged the wealth they purchased back up the same river.
Time passed and a new wave of settlers began to migrate into the Valley. These were also European, but not French. These folk brought with them all the personal wealth required to establish a planter household. These were the second and third sons of the English planters of the Carolinas and Virginia. These second sons were frozen out of inheritance of land by the laws of primogenitor. These laws served to keep the large, eastern estates in tact. Second sons were given personal property; tools, chattel, human and otherwise, furnishings, and all the household goods required to set up in style. Land they did not receive. To get land they had to head west. In the late 1700’s and early 1800’s the “West” included the Pearl River Valley. There was still a great deal of land available. Of course, the native peoples had to be further dislodged. God had given the European superior technology and organization, so moving aborigines off the land was a manageable problem.
It happened that the planters, French and English, became weary of the annual remove from their plantations to their winter, town homes in Mobile and New Orleans. The general weariness reached a critical mass in 1755. The two seaport towns had grown too large and were filled with unsavory characters. In reaction to this weariness, twenty families met on a bluff high above the Pearl. The bluff was heavily timbered and afforded a panoramic view of the River and the Valley. The bluff was relatively flat, having an expanse of land at the top of approximately seven hundred and fifty yards by two hundred and fifty yards. Fresh water was ready to hand from a large artisan spring that erupted in five different locations about the bluff.
The families selected one of their own, an artistic type, Pierre Fontaine, to submit an outline of a “habitation” suitable for the winter quarters of the families. Pierre laid out a central green, the “lawn”, with the dimensions of five hundred yards by one hundred and fifty yards. He designed a landscaping plan of groves of trees, formal gardens, in the French style, and fountains. Surrounding the lawn, Pierre established fifty home sites. Each site had an average footprint of fourteen thousand square feet. Each site had a unique view of the lawn and the surrounding country.
The plan was submitted to the families and was received with acclaim. The families accepted a proposal that the lots be assigned by auction. Only one or two became the object of contention. The rest were assigned at no cost to the new owners. The lawn and all unassigned lots, along with the purchase price of the lots sold to the highest bidder, became common property of the families. Annual assessments of money or labor were made of each family. In this way the common properties were maintained. This arrangement has come down through the centuries largely intact.
As soon as was feasible, each family began the design and construction of its town house. For the most part, these first homes on the lawn were of similar style and size. It was no more than three years before all the original twenty families were established in their new winter quarters. They celebrated by developing a schedule of parties that extended throughout the winter months. This too became a tradition. There has never been a year, no matter how strained the general circumstance, in which no parties were held during the “season.”
Over the years Pierre’s plan has been completely fulfilled. There have been several times when all the home sites were occupied. The ravages of time and civil and wartime unrest has culled many houses that were the showplace of their day. Every time a site became vacant, in due course, someone built anew. As a result of the comings and goings of
homes, the architectural styles represented on the lawn have become eclectic. Some of the original homes remain and all major styles that have, from time to time, captured the fancy of the nation, are represented.
The original families that settled the lawn did so due to weariness with complicated city life. They commissioned Pierre to design for them a “simple town.” They sought a town imbued with grace where a man might encounter his peers in an easy society and he gave them one.
In retrospect, it is unfortunate they could not find anyone of their number sufficiently worthy after whom the simple town should be named. As a consequence of this egalitarianism, a habit began of referring to it as “a simple town.” Time took an inevitable course and the name was, in the American style, contracted to Simpleton.
By the time the outside world imposed itself enough upon the citizens, bringing all the witticisms and winks at the name, the name was too established, and the citizens too proud and stubborn, to change. The name stuck. The people suffered and received grace.
Inevitably, given that the majority of the wealth in the Pearl Valley was in residence on the Lawn for at least three months out of every year, the ugly head of commerce was raised. First, a rudimentary river port developed on the shore below the bluff. The port was separated from the Lawn by a forested elevation a mile wide. The road between the Lawn and the port curved its way through the forest and was reasonably maintained.
Approximately halfway from the port to the Lawn, the road surmounted a level, shelf like space. The shelf became a crossroads. The road to the Lawn continued across the shelf and on up the bluff. Another road on the shelf, following an old Indian trail, crossed the road to the Lawn, adhering to the path of the river. Over time, the merchants who settled in the growing town made this cross road their center of operation. These new residents created a square, a pale imitation of the Lawn to be sure, but an adequate focal point of the new commercial and residential activities.
Buildings housing commercial operations on the ground level and the merchants’ family quarters on the upper levels predominated the square. However, there were some buildings on the square that were always used exclusively for residences.
Soon all the space between the Lawn and the town square became settled with residential buildings. The space between the town square and the port was taken up with lower income residences, slave quarters and industrial, warehouse and other commercial buildings.
This development pattern was in place by the dawn of the 1850’s and has remained, essentially, the same ever since. Today, as from the first, the most prestigious address in the town is the Lawn. With exceptions for the time-to-time vacancy due to fire, war, natural disaster, civil unrest, etc., all fifty home sites have been occupied, more or less constantly, since the early 1820’s. The owners have changed. There are only eleven of the original twenty families still represented on the Lawn. Still, ownership, as a practical matter, is by invitation. When homes are available they are not advertised. The word is quietly spread and transactions done before the outside world is aware.
The families occupying the homes on the Lawn are, collectively, known as the “fifty families.”
.
In reality, since several families have branches in more than one home, there are no more than twenty-five extended families left on the Lawn. There have probably never been more than thirty.
The Fifty Families sounds so much better than the twenty-five families. The phrase makes up in alliteration what is sacrificed in accuracy. To be a member of one of the fifty families and to live on the Lawn is a mark of distinction and prestige. Often the mystique associated with the fifty families and the Lawn is so great, people, whether members of the fifty or not, think the story of the Lawn and its occupants is the story of Simpleton.
Marie Therese
She was the natural daughter of the great Bienville, a remarkable man in a remarkable age. Bienville had gone to sea as his brother’s mate when he was but twelve. Under his brother’s, the equally remarkable but shorter-lived Iberville, tutelage Bienville had risen, by his thirteenth year, to second in command of a French frigate.
During that year, in an engagement between his brother’s vessel and two British ships of the line, Bienville had been grievously wounded. In this battle, Bienville, for the first time, demonstrated the tenacity and cunning which became his professional trademark.
During his long career as an explorer, solider, sailor and administrator in the colonial possessions of the King of France, the stories told about Bienville became the stuff of legend. There was the time, while paddling a dugout canoe in the Gulf of Mexico toward Mobile, he encountered a British warship looking for the mouth of the Mississippi River. Bienville paddled up to the vessel that, unbeknownst to the Captain, lay in the entry channel of the mighty river.
The French, under LaSalle, had come down from Canada and found the river mouth years earlier. It was impossible to find when approached from the south, if you didn’t already know where to look. The mouth got lost in a maze of delta channels. Exclusive possession this information was the only reason the French had managed to hold one of the richest and massive fiefs in the New World. For most of a century there had never been more than thirty thousand Frenchmen in all of French Louisiana. They traded with the Indians and exploited the mineral wealth of this vast territory, bringing the proceeds back to the settled cities and villages of French Canada or exporting it directly to France through the fledgling Gulf seaports of Biloxi and Mobile and, later, New Orleans.
Most of this was in the future when the sixteen-year-old Bienville boarded the English vessel and helpfully directed the Captain to the “Mississippi.” The Captain was, understandably, disappointed to hear that the Mississippi was hundreds of miles to the south, near the current location of Belize. Never the less, the captain was grateful to Bienville for giving him such detailed directions and the British turned confidently south, away from the object of their quest. To this day that point on the Mississippi is known as “English Turn.”
Under the direction of his brother Bienville founded the cities of Mobile and Biloxi. Later, by his own authority he founded what became the great metropolis of New Orleans. He served as Governor General of Louisiana several different times over a thirty-year period and managed to keep the British from pouring over the Appalachian Mountains. At the same time, he kept the Spanish from expanding their New Mexico territory into the great river valleys that comprised the Louisiana colony.
Marie Therese de Village was a natural child of Bienville’s later years. Born to a young serving girl in a Montreal tavern, Maria Therese had little claim to Bienville’s attention and none to his name. Indeed, she met the great man, her father, only once. She was only seven at the time and retained only a vague recollection of the event.
Her life appeared to be set in a pattern similar to her mother’s. She began working as a servant in the tavern when she was ten. She didn’t concern anyone until her thirteenth year. By then it was clear she was becoming a woman. The patrons of the tavern and the owner noticed the way she looked and began to shower unwanted attention upon her.
She remained at the tavern, her virtue unsullied through her fifteenth year. Now it was evident that she had to surrender to one or more of the men interested in her, becoming at least a part time prostitute like her mother, or leave.
Audacity was in her blood. She left Montreal in early spring. Hiring on as a cook with a small group of traders headed into the Louisiana territory, she cast her lot with change, intending to make her way down to Mobile. She had an unformed notion of meeting her father and working for one of his enterprises. She had no expectation of being happily received, but thought an honest Frenchwoman unafraid of hard work would be welcomed. The traders and government administrators constantly tried to talk French families into leaving Canada and resettling in Louisiana.
The morning she left dawned bright on the St. Lawrence River. The barge made slow but steady progress against the current as the high bluffs of the bank and the farms and forests of her homeland slipped by.
She wasn’t raped until the second night. She had been a virgin until that evening. There were four men traveling with her, by morning on the third day they had all taken her.
She had expected something like this to happen, though it had been rougher and more violent than she had anticipated. What did she know? Perhaps sex between men and women was always like this. She had no reason to suspect otherwise. Certainly her mother rarely spoke highly of the men she serviced.
Marie Therese tried to attach herself to the strongest man on the trip. She thought if she could build some possessive instinct in this man she would not have to service the others and she might, at least, have some notion of who her baby’s father was, should one result.
This plan worked only on a limited basis. The strong man went first and often he allowed no one else that night. Soon though, the use of her body was just one more favor he could grant or deny his companions. She realized the foolishness of her situation. She had fled the tavern to avoid becoming a whore and had become chattel instead.
The party crossed the watershed at the outpost of Chicago. They portaged the supplies and equipment across the divide between the watershed of the great lakes and the upper reaches of the Mississippi. This was, in effect, the boarder between the province of Canada and Louisiana.
Though it had been arranged at the start that Marie Therese would work in return for passage to Mobile, her fellow travelers now made it clear they were going to the Dakota territory in the far north of Louisiana. To reach the Dakota, the party would turn west and north up the Missouri River.
Marie Therese needed to continue down the Mississippi to its mouth on the Gulf. As the days slid by like the banks on the river, it became increasingly clear that she would be made to continue the trip to the Dakota. Marie Therese knew she could not display open opposition to this plan. Accordingly she kept her own counsel.
Her attempt to attach herself exclusively to the strongest man in the party had not worked. However, she had noticed that the youngest and smallest member of the party had shown an unexpected affection for her. He, like her, had been uninitiated in the ways of physical love prior to the trip. The experience was new to him and had made a positive impression upon him.
Marie Therese thought she could succeed in making this man her ally though she had failed with her first target. Her new target’s name was Jean Fontaine. Jean had been born in the north of France near Maine. Jean, like Marie Therese was born outside matrimony though he had been allowed to use the surname of his father. His father was only a member of the minor nobility but was descended from the illustrious Jean de la Fontaine, the warrior statesman who led the French forces in the sack of Jerusalem in 1099. The family had lost much of their authority and position during the Huguenot upheavals of the late 1400’s and early 1500’s.
Most of the family became protestant. Jean had been born a Roman Catholic but only a remnant of the family prestige and wealth remained. Jean’s father had been kind to him, in his fashion, but there was little to settle upon Jean and little influence to be made available to him. Jean was able to secure a position in the trading company sponsoring the current trip. This accounted for his presence in New France.
Marie Therese had guessed correctly. Jean had fallen completely under her spell. In a series of quiet conversations the conspirators planned their escape. They determined their best chance lay in jumping ship at the confluence of the two rivers. There was a small trading post called St. Louis. The party would spend a day and night there and the opportunity to melt away into the wilderness would no doubt present itself.
The original Ft. St. Louis had been far up river from the present location. The combined influences of ravaging floods and the realization that the Missouri led to the wealth of the northwest while the Mississippi supplied access to the wealth of the south, resulted in the fort’s remove to its present location.
The last night before the party arrived at St. Louis, Jean almost ruined their plans. Marie Therese was being shared with all the members of the party. Jean always went last, being the youngest and smallest of the males. This arrangement no longer suited Jean as he now knew himself to have certain proprietary interests in Marie Therese. He knew her distaste for the physical services she was forced to provide. His sense of shame and love combined to urge him on to a foolish display of gallantry. Marie Therese knew enough about men and Jean to recognize the danger in the situation.
Though she did not have any unfounded romantic notions toward Jean, she would need him in the future. Alone in the wilderness of the Mississippi she would not survive. Together their chances of survival were not great. A woman alone had no chance.
The raft was small. The opportunity to talk sense into Jean was limited. A too frank discussion would expose the special relationship the two had forged. Such exposure would lead directly to suspicions that might prevent their departure.
Half naked, she moved toward Jean after she had serviced the first of the men. She did so on the pretense of checking a matter of supply that had just occurred to her. “Stay calm, for the sake of our future!” she urgently whispered. “Be quiet, look away, this is what I must do.”
Jean returned her stolen look with a stare of malice and shame. He was impotent and furious at once. But he held his tongue. When his time came he declined. “I am tired of pleasuring a strumpet. She has the stink of a slut all over her.”
Jean turned away and feigned sleep.
Marie Therese was shocked by the attack. She was surprised at how it hurt. The other men joined in the chorus of insults. She was called all manner of names. She was compared to animals that rut with abandon. Her devastation was complete.
It was some time before the party calmed down. The frivolity of the moment had proved a delightful diversion for the men. Having finished their direct abuse of Marie Therese, the men began to recall other whores they had known. The tales were exaggerated and embellished and usually contained some denigrating comparison to Marie Therese.
Marie Therese was required to provide extra duty to two of the men who excited themselves with their recollections. She was eventually left alone in misery and some physical pain.
The next day they came in sight of the hovels constituting the trading post. Here the men could do some business and pick up information about the territory ahead. Also, there were other whores available to the men. In the cause of variety, Marie Therese would be left alone.
On land, Marie Therese was assigned a number of “household” chores. These consisted mainly of packing new stores and repacking existing ones. As she would have to be about the small habitation and as there were any number of untrustworthy types who might be tempted to abscond with a young, white woman, Jean was assigned to accompany her.
The other males went about the business of gathering information and alcohol. Marie Therese was still stung from the humiliation of the previous night. She had grown numb to the physical abuse that was her daily lot. The verbal insults and spiritual assault, particularly from Jean, was a new pain. One far worse than any other she had known.
Still, Marie Therese had few options. The best, by far, remained entering an exclusive relationship with Jean and fleeing to Mobile. She did not think her desertion would be enough to occasion a change of plans by the rest of the party. A woman mattered too little to the older men of the group and the pelts to be had in the north country meant money.
Money mattered a great deal. They would be mad at Jean and her, but they would not pursue them. At least, they would not long pursue them. She believed she and Jean would be safe if they could run free, down river for three days. Three days down river would mean six days back and the party would not risk more than nine or ten days on a detour.
She further reasoned that, though it would go badly for her if they were caught, she would survive the abuse and be no worse off than she was now. Jean they would probably kill. She decided that should not bother her. That should be reckoned an insignificant risk.
That she did not reckon the loss of Jean’s life an insignificant risk infuriated her. He had hurt her and abused her more than any other in a lifetime of abuse. It was a nasty business being born a woman in the New World. Still one grew used to one’s lot.
She had never loved Jean. Modern romantic notions of love in this time in history were the exclusive property of the privileged. Women of Marie Therese’s class did not dream of love.
She did not know why Jean’s abuse hurt so much. She did not know why she worried about the risk to him in their plan. It infuriated her that she could not use him like all men had and would forever use her. “Do I still stink of sluttery? Have you lost your manly interest for good, or was last night an act to fool our companions?” This last she asked more in hope than in the edgy sarcasm of the earlier questions.
“You have been a slut. You made common cause with me and cheerfully offered yourself to those pigs!” His reply came fast and bitter.
It was not all he felt, but he was a man and could not admit the impotence and frustration he felt at being unable to protect her.
Marie Therese was both wise and experienced for her age. She had, of course, learned a great deal about men’s appetites during the trip. Also, her job at the tavern had allowed her to watch the interplay between men and women and between men when a woman was in dispute.
Still, she was young and very close to the events and emotions surrounding them. Had she been older, wiser, and more mature; had she been less involved, less hurt or less betrayed she might have known that in his outburst, Jean was salving his ego more than attacking her. It could be said that Jean could have been more honest with himself and Marie Therese, he could have been more empathetic with the wretched situation she confronted, he could not.
It was not an age when such honesty and insight could be not be reasonably expected of any man. It was an age when a woman was supposed to construct any psychological and spiritual comfort she could for herself. That and conform herself to the “reality” that the dominant male in her life created for her.
Marie Therese did what the age required of her. She also accepted a small kernel of hate for Jean. Had he be able to rise above his rearing, had she been able to truly see the self loathing behind his attack, perhaps a small kernel of what is now called love would have appeared in the place of hate.
“I did not service those pigs with joy as I do with you. I did what I did to protect our life together. Had they suspected any partiality between us they would have kept close watch. Our plans for the south would have fallen through.”
Only a few hours previous none of this would have been a lie. Now it all was. She managed to say it all with conviction. She needed him and added, “I don’t care where we go so long as I go with you and I belong only to you and you to me.”
This last was a complete lie but delivered with such passion that Jean was visibly moved. He lurched to her and clutched her clumsily to him. “I will protect you after this. We can flee tonight. I have some money and will buy a raft. There is a mission four days down stream on the Red River. There we can marry and one can separate us.”
His enthusiasm was a complete turn from the contempt expressed only a moment before. She feigned delight. The hug and the words combined to remind her of how inept a lover he was and how foolish. She would go with him, at least to the mission. If they were caught and he killed, so what. He had confessed to having money. She had not known this. How much money? Perhaps, after a day on the river she might find she needed no man, particularly not a man so physically puny and foolish as Jean. If so, and if there was enough money, perhaps she would kill him herself.
Their companions returned to the barge in the early morning hours. They were drunk and fell quickly asleep. Jean and Marie Therese were up and gone soon after they were certain the others were unconscious.
The two took very little. They had purchased a small supply of stores and had them on the raft awaiting them. Before dawn they were launched and gone.
The mission at the mouth of the Red River was four or five days travel south. They decided to travel constantly, night and day. There were no papers indenturing either of them. Once they arrived at the mission and were married no claim could be made on Marie Therese, and Jean was free.
The weather was perfect, warm and sunny but kept from uncomfortable heat by the moderating influence of the river. It was frightening to be on the open water at night. Neither of them had any detailed knowledge of the river or experience with a night float.
The night passed tense and uneventful. Shortly after dawn on the second day Marie Therese noticed other travelers far upstream. It was impossible to tell from a distance who these travelers might be but their vessel was moving much faster than their raft.
In a matter of less than an hour, Marie Therese realized the folly of the craft Jean had chosen. Now the trailing vessel could easily be seen. It was a canoe, a large one that could accommodate four passengers and stores. Of course, they would have selected a canoe for the trip to the Dakota. They could never make it up the river in the barge brought from Montreal.
She had not counted on being pursued in a canoe. She had calculated the time it would take to overtake them based on being pursued by the barge. She could see from the size of the canoe that there was no intention of taking Jean back. She knew in that instant that she would not being going back either. She found a skinning knife they had acquired in Montreal and kept it close to her. When Jean died, when all hope was lost, she would take her own life. It was one thing to be a wife or whore; it was another to be chattel. She could not do that again.
The inexperience that led them to purchase and flee on a raft manifested itself again in the path they chose on the river. The river, to the ignorant, appears to be a uniform, flat muddy surface. To the experienced navigator, the river is a surface of a thousand paths. These paths move erratically and at varying velocities. The fleeing pair’s pursuers could read the river well. They took directions that did not appear to point at the raft but were the fastest paths to close the distance between the two crafts.
Marie Therese and Jean decided their chances were better if they could get to shore and find a defensible position. Trying to do so, they encountered an eddy close to shore that actually sent them floating back upstream. The men in the canoe were heartened by this turn of events and shouted derisive expletives at the pair.
In moments the canoe was aside them and the first of the men was aboard the raft. Jean was subdued quickly and all three were aboard and the canoe strapped to the side. The boarders headed the raft into the shore and secured it to a tree.
The two smaller men held Jean. Marie Therese was in the clutches of the larger man before she could get the knife out of her satchel. He caught her with her hand on it and in the satchel. They three made it clear Jean was to die after he had once more witnessed the violent rape of Marie Therese. Marie Therese was to be taught such a lesson she would never again attempt a flee to freedom. She was to be scared and disfigured so no man would want her for anything but domestic service and satisfaction of lust.
Marie Therese freed her hand and the knife entered the big man’s chest. It went deep to the hilt. Blood surged out of the exposed cavity and drenched them both.
When a man dies suddenly and unexpectedly, a look of surprise often is found on his face. It is a unique look, different from other expressions of surprise, no matter how shocking the non-lethal event which occasions the surprise. It cannot be said with certainty if this look is surprise at the last thing of this world the man sees and experiences or the first thing seen and experienced in the next, whichever, it is arresting.
The fact of the big man’s death and the look on his face stunned all remaining souls on the raft into temporary paralysis. Jean was the first to awake. He took advantage of this by kicking one of his captors hard in the crotch. His kick was not the kind of blow to the testicles that merely hurts and causes nausea. It was a full force, toe point to testicles that kills. It kills slowly and painfully.
The second man holding Jean cuffed him hard and knocked Jean to the deck. The man drew his knife and was an instant from using it to spit Jean open. He was stopped by Marie Therese’s knife in his neck. Marie Therese had to use all her strength to pull the knife from the chest and heart of the big man. She then lunged wildly at Jean’s remaining assailant, blindly, luckily finding the jugular. The last man, like the second, did not die quickly. Blood gushed from his neck. He too wore a look of surprise as he first passed out and then bleed to death at Marie Therese’s feet.
There they all sat and stood, soaked in the blood of the two dead men with only the sound of the river and the moans of the last dying assailant. Marie Therese passed the knife to Jean and motioned to her last living defiler. With no words exchanged, Jean understood. He took the knife and sent the man speedily to the other side.
They pair decided to dispose of the bodies on land. They were in the middle of a wilderness but a dead body floating down stream, if found, would not serve their interests.
Most of the stores aboard the canoe were of the type that could be useful in the south. Marie Therese assumed the main body of the stores purchased for the trip north were still in St. Louis. There was a goodly sum of money and other personal valuables. These they took along with the stores and the canoe. By later standards the entire hoard was a miserable collection. By the standards of lower Louisiana, they now had enough to start a trading post or store of their own. Establishing such a store in Mobile was their new intention as they launched themselves from the bank.
It would be fairer to say this was Marie Therese’s intention as Jean was still it a state of confusion brought on by the rush of events. Three men dead and buried and it was not yet noon.
The balance of the trip played out much as they had expected. Their union was sanctified at the Red River mission. They acquired a parcel of land right outside the fort at Mobile and, by the second trading season, set up shop in a rough building constructed by Jean.
Marie Therese was far along in her second pregnancy. Neither knew who the father of the first child was but he looked enough like Jean to pass. There was no doubt of the paternity of the second. Marie Therese was the only married woman in Mobile and on of only two women of European descent in the habitation. Though everyone lived in poverty and squalor, her legal status afforded a special place in society.
Jean died before the second child was born. He got sick one day and died. People did that frequently on the French frontier. Marie Therese grieved his passing, though she never lost the kernel of hate she acquired in St. Louis.
She faced the future with resolve. She was still young, not yet nineteen, and pretty. She had perhaps five, maybe ten years of beauty left. She had a stock of goods to barter and sell. She had a still Jean had designed and built so her store had a steady supply liquor.
Mobile was a pathetic place at this time. There were never more than forty soldiers in the fort. These men were only intermittently paid. In a good year one French warship and one ocean going trading vessel would call on the port. Even so, there were few good years.
Such trade as there was consisted of smuggling goods in from Spanish colonies, bartering goods with the aborigines, and trading up river with the established communities of upper Louisiana and Canada.
There was little money. Most trade was barter. When there was money it went for the occasional trading vessel from France and contraband from Cuba or Mexico. Inside the habitation there was only one thing men would pay money for. Marie Therese was that one thing. Her mother was a whore. Marie Therese had been chattel and she had been a wife.
She had fled to escape being a whore for a tavern keeper. She thought herself foolish now. Though foolish, she was a pretty, respected member of a wretched community. At least she could now choose to whom she would sell herself. At least now she could keep the money she earned for herself and her children. When the ships from France did come she would have money. When the traders of Cuba needed a reliable business partner with capital, she would have money. Businesswoman and whore, yes. However, to the day she died she was never again any man’s chattel.
It not so. In the coming weeks and months readers will discover that the story of Simpleton is far more than the story of the Lawn and the Fifty Families. From the beginning, indeed, even prior to the beginning, the fate of Simpleton lay frequently in the hands of actors outside, even unknown to, the Fifty Families.
Nasty Boy
In the heart of man there are conflicting imperatives. Two such are the will to survive and the will to dignity. Both of these, as well as all others, bounce around in the soul, colliding and confronting one another and the common delimiters of life; fear, anger, greed and so forth. The result of all this ephemeral bumping and grinding is identified by different, imprecise terms. Character, reason, judgment, artistic talent and courage are some of these terms. The perceived presence or absence of the results identified by these terms can define a man or woman in the eyes of the world and of themselves. These terms are so powerful they can, if allowed, define endless generations of a family, indeed, of a people.
The peculiar relationship between persons of European descent and those of African descent in and around Simpleton is a remarkable example of the power of terms. Terms, after all, are only tags assigned by one or more persons to others. These tags always serve some purpose of the persons assigning them. Still, they are nothing, except when they are everything.
In the relationship between Black and White in Simpleton, Mississippi the terms proved uniquely powerful. Not merely because they remained a constant power for centuries. Not merely because one powerful group sought to impose its will on a less powerful group using little more than physical intimidation and terms. Not merely because both groups bought into the terms the Whites set as definitions for both themselves and the Blacks.
To one degree or other such things were not historically unique. No, the real astonishing element of the Black/White relationship as seen in and around Simpleton is that both groups, from the very beginning, knew it was all a lie. From the very beginning, every individual of either race knew there was no difference between White and Black that was not superficial and based on power, sheer physical power. Even with four hundred years of imposed differences, no substantial modification occurred which made either race discernable from the other. At least, nothing discernable which could not be accounted for by differences in formative environments.
How did it happen? Thoughtful Simpletonians of every era asked themselves this question, and did so frequently. Whites asked it with an air of detached bemusement. Blacks asked it with a desperate urgency. Even the difference between the manner of asking was only a product of environment. Had they been truly different, the Blacks would have asked a different question and the Whites would not have been moved to ask any question at all.
Lord, how did it happen?
At sixteen Nasty Boy had been on the edge of being too old for harvest by the slave gathering tribes of the west coast of Africa. These tribes did not like to harvest grown men. Grown men were too hard to manage. The White traders who bought the gatherers’ human merchandise would not pay well for the unmalleble males if these males were too strong. They wouldn’t pay at all for fully grown men who were too weak to be unmallable. As the buyers in the new world wanted strong males, the white traders solved the dilemma in the same way herders had always done. The traders bought the young, healthy, near grown males. The Buyers and brokers in the new world would grow them out while the “spirit” was beaten out of them.
Of course, grown women and healthy children of all ages were harvested from the interior forests of the continent. These were harvested whenever the foraging parties encountered them. Grown males were usually slaughtered. It was, therefore, something of a blessing, if not for Nasty Boy or the succeeding twelve to fifteen generations immediately following him, then to those of his descendants alive today, that the gatherers erred on the side of greed and judged Nasty Boy healthy but not quite of age.
He resisted vigorously and effectively but was subdued at the beginning of the encounter. Had luck broken differently, Nasty Boy might not have been struck from his blind side and rendered unconscious early on. He might have fought on making enough of a nuisance of himself to justify his immediate demise.
He was not murdered. He was herded along with the rest of his flock to a crude holding pen in a crude port village. There he was held only for as long as it took to conclude the negotiations between the gathering tribe and the pink skinned devils who came in the big boats.
Though the time in the holding pen was short, the occupants used the time efficiently circulating and embellishing the rumors relating to their future. The competing concepts varied from the hopeful to the depressing to the terrifying. Some thought they would serve as slaves to kings far away. Many of the young women, truth be told, thought there might be some benefit in this and were hopeful if not eager.
Most thought they were to be shipped away and it would be long in the future, if ever, before they saw their homes again. The fear of never seeing loved ones again, never walking the familiar ways or doing the familiar things saddened those who felt those fears. Others feared they were to be eaten or worse by the pink devils. These became more terrified as they refined these images of horror.
Of course, they were, unfortunately, all correct. Still, no matter how strange they thought the future was to be, it proved to be an underestimation.
The herd soon began to separate themselves into several categories. There were the very fortunate, the fortunate and the unfortunate. The very fortunate died while still in the holding pens. The fortunate died in the big boats they were stuffed into for the trip to a land across the big water. The unfortunate survived the trip to a new world and new life.
Nasty Boy was always unfortunate.
There is no point in describing the deprivation and inhumanity Nasty Boy experienced on the trip over. That is not possible. Suffice it to say that he was not singled out for special attention. He and all his companions experienced pretty much the same maltreatment. Some of the young women whose looks suited the taste of the pink devils were brought up on deck from time to time. The fresh air was beneficial but most of those so chosen did not finish the trip. Some of the chosen just died, some liberated themselves with a leap into the sea and some were killed by their captors. Adjudged guilty of some transgression or lack of gratitude.
Nasty Boy wanted to die. He begged whatever Deity he thought might be listening for the release that comes with death. The Deities were not listening, not to Nasty Boy. They were, perhaps too busy answering the beseechings of Nasty Boy’s companions.
No day went by without the passing of someone. Sometimes the bodies were removed. Most of the time they were left to rot were they lay. The pink devils believed there was a therapeutic value, a calming effect to be gained. One is given a unique perspective when chained to a disintegrating corpse. An arresting odor and compelling vision fill the brain, making thought of anything else difficult. For this reason, the there was a certain wisdom in the pink devils’ logic.
After a while, the hold where the herd was kept did get very quiet.
The view of Mobile Bay has, from the earliest, been a dramatic and powerful one. Men on board, strong men, have, after a long ocean voyage, been known to weep at the sight of the vast bay opening up as the vessel rounds the tip of Dauphin Island, slips under the guns guarding the entrance and penetrates the mouth of the harbor.
The visual beauty one encounters is heightened by the peaceful security which settles on a man leaving the insecurity and danger of the wider sea and entering the warm, calm waters of the Bay.
Likewise, men forced to lay up in the roads waiting for the tide to change before a ship could approach the dock, would suffer from being close to Mobile and the comforts of shore. Close enough to see and, sometimes, to hear the life of the port, unable to join that life. This too was a type of suffering. Not, of course, on a par with the suffering the sailors had inflicted upon the human cargo below. Still, one feels his own suffering and feeling it makes it real.
For Nasty Boy there was no sense of impending release or arrival. He knew, though was hardly conscious of, the ships stationary status as it lay in the roads. Perhaps he might have sensed a heightening of expectation from the pink devils. He did not understand much of the language the devils spoke. Only one or two one-word commands. Even so the time in the hold of the ship came, finally, to an end. Nasty Boy had arrived with his prayer for death unanswered.
The herd was taken on the deck and moved rapidly off the ship to another holding pen. None of the herd sensed any anticipation. The unrelenting horror of the trip had left each member of the herd without the capacity to hope or look with anticipation to the future.
Neither could any of them look to the future with any fear. Nothing could be worse, life held no appeal, ambition no sway.
Seeing and experiencing open air for the first time in a number of days no member of the herd could count, was different and of value. Trying to use bones and muscles that had atrophied from months of disuse and from being forced by over crowding to be still in one position, was comedic to those on shore watching and painful to those using them.
Not many were privileged to see the march of the herd as they came off the ship. While funny, the pink devils did not want others to see. The herd looked weak and diseased and members would not fetch fair prices if seen in their current condition. The devils knew a week or two, maybe a month of walking and stretching out to sleep, ordinary activities, would restore those who did not die to the appearance of good health. None of the devils ever ceased to be surprised at the regenerative capacity of the herd. Individual devils frequently remarked to each other how remarkable this was. Proof of the sub human strength of the animals they had brought to the new world, that’s what this regenerative power was. A human couldn’t do that. White men couldn’t do that. The red Indian couldn’t do that. Even the majority of the black beasts the devils brought from Africa couldn’t do that, only the true beasts.
All the truly human ones died, either on the voyage or soon after. The ones that lived were not accorded the traits of strength or will to live, they were said to be beasts.
As for the herd, Nasty Boy slowly regained his ability to sense his surroundings. It was a matter of days before he could close his eyes without feeling the sway of the ship of the water and not smell the stench of death and human waste that filled the hold. It was longer still before he stopped seeing in his mind the corpses chained in dim light to the living until they fell apart. Longer still before he ceased to taste the flavor of putrefying flesh that permeated everything. It would be years before his senses began to break through the curtain of horror that enveloped him and all members of the herd. It was days before he could begin to think again.
On board nasty Boy had lost the capacity to be angry about the power the devils had over him. He had lost the ability to be sad or fearful. He had been reduced to just the ability to be. Reflecting on it now, he knew others in the herd had lost even the ability to be. These had died from the inability to be, nothing more.
Now nasty Boy regained some of his anger and his sadness. With that however, he also regained his sense of horror. How could any human being do this to another? Even now, had the power relationship suddenly reversed, Nasty Boy could conceive of killing the pink devils and everyone in the big village they brought him to. Yes, he could kill them and enjoy it. He could rape their women and he could kill them in painful and creative ways.
He could not conceive of herding them aboard a ship and stuffing them in a hold half the needed size and keeping them there until more than half died or they returned to his home. Nor could he think of any use for them once he got them home.
No, these pink devils were not human. They looked human but could not be so. It wasn’t that they had more powerful weapons or special anatomy. They were different spiritually.
They could expend all the energy required to bring the herd to this place and maybe have a use for the herd. Nasty Boy could not conceive of any other human beings doing this, he could not have done it.
Nasty Boy could only conclude that the pink devils were different. He did not even know if they could be killed, if they could die. He thought one of them had died on the trip over but he could not be sure. He hoped they could die, could be killed. He intended to kill them if he could
It was a month before the pink devils believed Nasty Boy was sufficiently recovered from the ordeal of the trip to fetch a good price. When the day finally came, Nasty Boy was led to the market and held in a stable yard. All morning buyers came to inspect the human chattel. Nasty Boy received his name at this inspection. The buyers looked him over, prodding him and inspecting his mouth, anus and muscle.
Nasty Boy scowled and barked at the buyers in a native tongue that, though familiar to them having other slaves use it, was unintelligible. The combination of Nasty Boy’s demeanor and his unwashed, unkempt appearance, earned him his name.
When the auction came many things happened fast. Though not the first to be placed on the blocks, the time flew. He fetched a good price and was shackled and led away. He was chained to a group of three other black people. He knew none of them, though he recognized one from the holding pens. The other three were females, very young and frightened. They were trailing behind a wagon pulled by four mules and driven by another black man. One of the pink devils Nasty Boy had never seen before rode on the wagon with the unchained black man and was clearly in charge of the expedition.
The small caravan made its way out of the city of Mobile headed west toward the setting sun. It was summer. The air was heavy with heat and moisture. They walked slowly behind the wagon until the sun went down. Finally, they came to a house on the side of the trail. The wagon was moved into a barn and Nasty Boy and his companions were chained to a line of posts placed inside the barn for this purpose.
After the black man had fed and stabled the mules, he fed Nasty Boy and then the women. The pink devil had gone somewhere. When the meal was finished, the black man selected one of the females, unchained her and led her into an empty stall. The black man spoke to the female but they did not share a tongue. When she realized what was expected of her, she began to resist. The black man gripped her hard and spoke menacingly.
Nasty Boy could do nothing, chained to the post, and the female was nothing to him. The female’s eyes showed she knew what was expected of her. She was young, not much past her coming of age, but she was pretty and had probably serviced many men since being captured.
Nasty Boy could hear the animal sounds coming from the stall. He was grateful that it did not take long and he could not see them. He heard nothing from her during the act. When it was over, the black man led her back to the post and rechained her.
There was no expression on the female’s face to give away what she thought or felt. Nasty Boy wondered if she thought or felt anything. He could not know what was normal between a man and a woman. As a man, he had not been with a woman. He would have married had he not been captured and brought to this place. His parents had concluded arrangements with a family in another village. Nasty Boy had been going to that village to see his bride when he was captured.
Nasty Boy watched the young female as she sat, curled up against the post. He wondered if this female had been promised, if she also had thoughts of the life she was to lead and now would never do so. This was odd. Nasty Boy realized it had been a long time, maybe several moon cycles since he had thought of his fellow captives or himself as a human; free, with a future mapped out within a familiar culture.
He wondered what lay in store. Would there be a context for his life in this different land? Would he live in a village and have a family? This must be so. All humans, even the pink devils seemed organized around families and villages.
He did not understand all that went on around him but he recognized basic familiar units of culture. The male pink devils were dominant over their females. That was the same as Nasty Boy’s home. He had not seen pink devils’ mates, but they must have a similar system as his people. Men and women were necessary, or seemed necessary to make children. He knew pink devils would mate with black females, this he had seen. Nasty Boy had seen their villages. These were different from the villages Nasty Boy had known but were recognizable to him.
Life was slightly less miserable than the previous few days and much better than the months spent on the water. Nasty Boy felt that whatever lay in store, if the current trend continued, it would be better.
He knew his life would never be as good as the one he was born into. Still, Nasty Boy was young, he was recovering his strength and he knew there were many females about, one might soon be available to him. Why not? The black man driving the wagon had the female he wanted, why couldn’t Nasty Boy have one?
Comforted by the optimism of youth, Nasty Boy fell into the first sweet sleep he had known since he had been gathered. The second day was much the same as the first and the five days and nights that followed.
Nasty Boy managed to pick up a few one-word commands. He now knew what “Nigger” meant.
There were other words he could now pick out but did not really understand. Better still. He had discovered that two of the females with him could understand a few words in his native language and he in theirs.
This last discovery did not do him as much good as it might. The pink devil leading them heard Nasty Boy talking to the females and shouted words none of them understood. Nasty Boy asked the females if they knew why the pink devil was shouting at them and immediately discovered the reason. The pink devil did not want the females and Nasty Boy talking at all. This was made known to Nasty Boy via the fist, whip and foot of the pink devil and the black man helping him.
At first, Nasty Boy tried to defend himself and the females against the assault. His efforts only made the beating worse and he was rendered senseless before the fury subsided. For the rest of that day he was as much dragged as led.
Finally, they came to the place to rest. This stop was not sheltered. The Pink devil slept in the wagon, under a canvas sheet. The blacks all slept on the ground chained to the wagon, all of them except the pink devil’s driver.
The relationship between the driver and the pink devil confused Nasty Boy. He had assumed the driver was like the gatherers. Those black men had been partners with the pink devils. The two groups ate together, talked and laughed. They even shared some of the captive females.
Here it was different. Not subtly different, completely different. The driver, called Mose by the pink devil, was not a partner. To be sure, Mose was much better off than Nasty Boy or the other blacks in the small caravan, but he was not a partner, he was a servant. Mose was not even a respected servant. The pink devil treated Mose with the same disdain and violence as the other blacks. There was more than enough room under the canvas sheet for Mose and the pink devil, called Boss by Mose, but even during the hard rain that fell that night, Mose slept exposed to the mud under the wagon.
Mose allowed the young female under the wagon with him, but they did not mate. Nasty Boy assumed Mose felt this would disturb Boss.
Late the seventh day the caravan turned off the main trail on to a narrow track that led away from the river and up into the forest. As night fell, they did not stop for rest. The rains came again and still the group moved on. Some time long after dark, the group emerged into an open area of cultivated fields. The trail improved and Nasty Boy could see a small light in the distance. As they grew closer to the light, Nasty Boy could see the outline of several buildings clustered here and there. They arrived at one of the clusters and were taken, still chained, into a low building.
The building was enclosed and, except for a few leaks was protected from the weather. The females were chained to posts in this building and Nasty Boy was taken to another room and chained for the night. Wet, cold and exhausted, Nasty Boy fell into a deep sleep.
The following morning Nasty Boy awoke to his new home. He did not know it then, but he had been purchased on behalf of Jacob Renard by Master Renard’s overseer, Boss. He was now, and was to be forever, property of Master Renard or his family.
Boss had selected Nasty Boy because he was young and strong. Master Renard wanted to build his herd and needed a strong worker and breeder for the females Boss purchased as well as the other females already on the plantation.
The Master had been disappointed of late with the breeding program. Too many of the newborns were obviously mixed breeds. This cross breeding did not offend the Master’s morality, though it did create some grousing among the women of his household. No, the Master simply was disappointed in the loss of the pure African strain. The Master felt that too much European blood in the slaves made them too smart and less pliable. As it was, no day dawned that, before it ended, did not demand a beating administered to one of the slaves.
No, to the Master’s mind, he already had too much European blood in the mix. He needed a purer strain. The pure breeds could stand the work and the heat and the misery the insects inflicted. The true dark, black skin was tougher, thicker maybe. The true black could sweat more profusely. The Master considered these things and knew he needed pure, black blood in his stock of newborns.
He had several problems effecting this infusion of pure black blood. One, he had noticed that after several years, the pure blacks seemed to lose interest in mating. No matter who he put them with, some of these men simply could not get it done with the females. He had pondered on this for some time. He himself experienced diminished interest in sex as he had gotten older, but he was still stirred by a pretty young women. He had even fathered one or two mixed breeds by a lovely young mulatto he kept as part of the household slave staff.
The older slaves simply lost interest Many wanted to stay with female slaves they had been with before. This was no good since these females, as they grew older, were less likely to conceive, some had even passed their child baring years.
His second problem was keeping his white employees and kin out of the slave women. He understood the needs of a healthy man, but it was diluting the stock. Also, his women were prone to be upset. He had told his oldest son, when the boy had come to him mad that his daughter in law had refused the boy access to her bed because of the boy’s interest in one of the female slaves, that he had to just take his wife. It was his daughter in law’s duty to service his son when needed. Ultimately the boy had stiffened, shown backbone and gone to the couple’s room and taken his wife forcibly.
Great goodness! There had been a horrible row. The Master’s daughter in law and the Master’s wife had been furious. A cold and bitter anger had settled on the plantation. The Master had to assemble a family gathering and read the women Paul’s letter. He had to tell them in stern language their role and their duty to their husbands.
The matter had been settled but had been most unpleasant. His daughter, Pleasance, had been upset. She was his favorite and had recently been engaged to the son of a planter from up the Pearl River. The Master had never spoken to Pleasance about her duties and the need to be subservient to her husband. The Master would have preferred to address this matter with her at a date closer to the wedding and in a less strident tone. Still, he couldn’t assemble all the women without including Pleasance and the matter had to be settled.
Pleasance had confounded matters by calling off the engagement. It had taken the Master several weeks to sort out the matter.
This affair, plus the diminution of the breed for work, had been all the Master needed to convince himself he needed to keep the whites off the female slaves. Even if it had not been the sign he required, there was a more ominous one on the political horizon. There was a powerful and growing anti slave minority on the rise in England. Already, there had been legislation introduced in Parliament that would outlaw slave trading by English ships. So far, the mercantile interests in the North of England had kept this insanity at bay but other trading nations had declared the flesh trade illegal and England could follow soon.
All these issues had caused the Master to send Boss to Mobile. Boss had looked over the stock and settled his eye on Nasty Boy. Nasty Boy was big, strong and as black of skin as moonless midnight. Clearly he could stand the beatings and the work. If he would breed only time would tell.
That he would try, Boss felt confident. Boss had watched Nasty Boy in the pens. Boss had watched Nasty Boy’s interest in the young females incarcerated there. Nasty Boy might not prove potent but he was clearly virile.
Boss need not have concerned himself. During the next several years Nasty Boy worked and bred. Nasty Boy fathered many children into the life of slavery. Many of these whelps were males. Nasty Boy was a major element in the wealth building of the Master. Slaves were money and a powerful sire like Nasty Boy producing more of his kind was worth more than a prize race horse.
Pure African or not, Nasty Boy could think. Any young man, if he lives long enough, will begin to think about the meaning of his life and the legacy he is likely to leave. Nasty Boy was no exception.
Over the next several years, in many respects, Nasty Boy’s life was what many young men, of all breeds, fantasize about. Nasty Boy had to work hard and mostly against his will. But, he had developed farm and craft skills. He was a decent carpenter and better than average field engineer. Nasty Boy had a gift for laying, by eye, irrigation and drainage ditches. Nasty Boy had once eyed and helped supervise the draining of almost one hundred acres of river swamp. Swamp that was now among the most productive of the lands owned by the Master.
Nasty Boy wished his life was his own but he did enjoy much of his work. Nasty Boy also was given any female he wanted so long as he took a different one each month. Nasty Boy could breed with them and never have to concern himself with the resulting offspring of those couplings.
Yes, many might think Nasty Boy’s life was a male dream of the perfect life. He had work he more or less enjoyed and frequent sex with any number of females who, if not eager for him, knew their job and were usually cooperative.
Unfortunately, Nasty Boy could think and observe. He saw how his sons and daughters grew up in a hostile world, knowing him to be their father but putting no value to the knowledge. Nasty Boy saw how the Master’s children and grandchildren grew up knowing the special relationship they had to the Master and his family. Nasty Boy saw how the Master looked after each one and made it possible for the women to look after the children.
Nasty Boy could not look after his offspring, there were too many. Nasty Boy could not have done so with a more manageable brood. He would not have been allowed to do so.
The Master did not want Nasty Boy to be a good father, he wanted Nasty Boy to be a prolific father.
In spite of the beatings and the disparity between their stations, the Master had come to a grudging respect for Nasty Boy. Indeed, the Master had developed a special affection for Nasty Boy. An affection akin to that one would feel for a favorite hound or horse. A hound or horse with whom one could talk. The Master almost always spoke to Nasty Boy when they encountered one another in the fields and farm yard. The conversations varied, ranging from pleasantries to complicated discussions about drainage or building projects.
It was during one of these later conversations that Nasty Boy asked the Master if he could be given a particular woman he fancied more than the others. The woman in question was not past breeding, Nasty Boy was not being like some of the others. Nasty Boy was still willing to breed but was asking to be given a stable, monogamous life.
The Master was impressed. He looked at Nasty Boy and, for the first time saw a man. A man with a sense of honor and morality. The Master wondered where Nasty Boy got these things. Other slaves had demonstrated them in one form or another. These other slaves allowed these human sensibilities to manifest themselves in rebellious manners.
Still others had ceased to perform as breeders.
The first of the rebellious types could be beaten into compliance. These would take their anger to the women in copulation. So long as it did not permanently injure the women it did no real harm to the breeding program.
The ones who could not or would not perform were another matter. These slaves were no longer good for breeding. They could not be made to breed. The male member could not be punished into functioning. These slaves could still be beaten into submission and made to work but were worthless to the breeding program.
Nasty Boy was asking for something different. Nasty Boy wanted a stable family, in so far as that was available to slaves. Nasty Boy made it clear that he understood the Master owned him and would own his children. Nasty Boy simply wanted one, maybe two young females that were his. He would still breed, just selectively. The Master asked if he could chose the females or did Nasty Boy have someone special in mind. Nasty Boy said he would accept whoever the Master chose for him. Would Nasty Boy take as many as three? Yes, but no more than three. The Master agreed to think it over and give Nasty Boy an answer within a week.
At first the Master was drawn Nasty Boy’s request. The Master genuinely liked and respected Nasty Boy. In the decade or so since the Master had acquired Nasty Boy, he had recognized Nasty Boy’s superior, practical intelligence and physical gifts. Nasty Boy had been an excellent investment.
Nasty Boy had paid for his keep through his manual labor. Moreover, Nasty Boy had been a prolific breeder, helping to expand and improve the slave stock. Totally unexpected had been Nasty Boy’s primitive genius for knowing how to drain and irrigate land. Projects that even surveyors had not been able to accomplish without trial and error, Nasty Boy could figure out on the first try. What’s more, Nasty Boy could organize the work efficiently and get it done.
Now this totally new aspect of Nasty Boy’s character. He wanted to be a family man. Nasty Boy had told the Master he wanted to be as much like the Master as circumstances would allow. Nasty Boy had both meant the statement and had intended to flatter the Master.
At first, the Master had been flattered. Now, upon a few days reflection, the Master began to be concerned. Nasty Boy was a man. Already the slaves who were his children had taken to calling themselves by his name. One called himself John Nasty Boy, another Sallie Nasty Boy and so on. Not all Nasty Boy’s offspring did this , but some did.
The other slaves identified themselves by first name only or appropriated the Renard surname.
This habit of some of Nasty Boy’s children to use his name may have been the genesis of the request. Or, maybe it was the other way around. Maybe Nasty Boy had told these offspring to affect this air. The more he thought of it, the more the Master grew in his concern.
If Nasty Boy could have this much influence on children with whom he had no significant relationship, what might his influence be if he was a dutiful and recognized father?
Nasty Boy had a gift for organization and leadership. The other slaves respected him. Nasty Boy had always used his gifts to the Master’s benefit, but would he always?
The deadline for a decision that the Master had given himself came and went. The Master was considering the options. He could grant Nasty Boy’s request. However, this option seemed unwise. It went in a direction but not far enough. It would only lead to frustration and anger. Another option was to deny the request. This might embitter Nasty Boy. If so, Nasty Boy would have to be beaten into submission. This would keep Nasty Boy as a passable field hand but might result in losing him as a stud and as an engineer. He could sell Nasty Boy. Any number of buyers could be found. The Master’s peers knew of Nasty Boy. He would fetch a good price.
The Master wanted to motivate Nasty Boy. The Master wanted more out of him not less. Nasty Boy must be about thirty by now, old for a slave. He might have another ten prime years left.
The next day the Master took Nasty Boy aside and made him an offer. If Nasty Boy would work for the Master out of his land office in Simpleton, a town up river, Nasty Boy could pick one female to go with him. Nasty Boy would have to agree to work for the Master clearing and draining land, some the Master would own and some the Master would be having Nasty Boy clear and drain for others. When working in the region of one of the Master’s plantations, Nasty Boy must agree to breed with one or more of the Master’s other slaves. When working in an area removed from any of the Master’s lands, Nasty Boy must agree to breed with some of the other Master’s slaves if Nasty Boy was hired out to do so.
If Nasty Boy would agree to this, the Master guaranteed Nasty Boy that he would stay at least one week a month in Simpleton with his female and they would be left to live as man and woman. Moreover, at the end of the tenth year of this agreement, Nasty Boy, his female and all his children by that female would be freed.
Nasty Boy was ecstatic! He had never dreamed this could be so. Nasty Boy’s excitement was not dampened when the Master qualified the offer by insisting on it being contingent upon Nasty Boy performing at high productivity rates. If Nasty Boy failed to live up to the expected productivity, the agreement would be void.
Nasty Boy knew he could accomplish all that was required. He agreed with the terms.
The Master was happy with Nasty Boy’s reaction. It was proof that Nasty Boy would perform. The Master expected Nasty Boy to make him a lot of money and expand his arable lands. If Nasty Boy lived the normal life span of a slave, he would not make it much past the ten years, if he lived that long. Even if Nasty Boy survived to receive his freedom, his remaining years would not be so productive that it would be a great loss.
Indeed, Nasty Boy would, if he was lucky, have one or two productive years in which to support himself as best he may and would not be a burden in his old age to either the Master or the Master’s family. To the minds of both the Master and Nasty Boy, it was a fair deal, fairly struck.
Nasty Boy selected Naomi, a young mixed race slave, a blood relative of the Master, technically the Master’s grand daughter. Naomi had only recently come of age. She had not known a man. He had persuaded her with the promise of her freedom and her unborn children’s freedom.
Nasty Boy asked the Master if he and Naomi could be married. This the Master denied, saying for them to wait the ten years. The Master knew he could make the other slaves understand that Nasty Boy had been sent away, but to have him married as a white man might do, that was the wrong thing to show the slaves. If Nasty Boy lived to be free and still wanted Naomi after time and childbirth had taken her youth and beauty, then he would be able to marry. It was better for all to wait and see.
Nasty Boy kept his part of the bargain. He drained over two thousand acres and fathered many children. He fathered seven by Naomi and raised as his own three he acquired by another woman. He felt the burden of his agreement. It sapped his strength and some of his self respect. He hated breeding with the slaves of other Master’s for this was strictly for payment of a stud fee. The products of these matings he would never see or hear of.
He liked working the low swamp lands. It afforded him the satisfaction of seeing his labor of mind and body to its full fruition. It also allowed him a glimpse of respect from white men, the pink devils of his youth. It let him see how they both feared and respected him. He began to understand that the white men feared and respected all Blacks but lied to themselves about it. It was this lie that let all of them, Black and White live together.
Nasty Boy got by with his own lie. He told himself he was only breeding on command to keep his part of the bargain. He would be free. When that great day came he would be like he was in the forests of Africa all those years ago. He would be free, living with the woman he chose and their children. He would be a man raising his free sons and daughters and working for himself. He would no longer breed with other women, he would no longer father other children. It was painful to maintain his life as it now was but that would pass. He would not have to service the females while the white men watched and laughed and wagered and yelled. He would no longer have to take reluctant, terrified females because their Masters wanted them bred. He would wait until he was free.
Nasty Boy did not live to be free. Neither did Naomi. Of their children, only two boys survived. All the rest were carried away by the influenza. The same disease took the Master and his oldest son and several of the Master’s white grandchildren and his beloved Pleasance. They had all lived together and had died and were buried under the same soil.
The Master was better than his word. He had promised to set Nasty Boy and Naomi and all their children free after ten years further servitude. Nasty Boy did not live long enough to collect on the bargain but the Master freed them all in his will. As he died in the same epedimic as Nasty Boy, the two surviving sons of Naomi were freed by the Probate Court.
The oldest of the children was twelve at his freedom. He had inherited the racial characteristics of his Great, Grand Father, the Master. To all the world he appeared European. His name was John Renard Nasty Boy. The other boy was only nine when freed. He also bore many Caucasian facial features but was a color called “high yellow.” The second son’s name was Billy Renard Nasty Boy.
All of Nasty Boy’s children by Naomi had been given the middle name of Renard. This had been done to commemorate the blood tie to the Renards. It had been allowed as a form of the custom of giving slaves the Master’s surname.
The widower of Pleasance was charged with administering the estate. The middle name and the color of the boys’ skin, particularly John’s, created an embarrassment for the family. The family, burdened with enormous grief, needed no further mortification. As a consequence, the boys were shipped away. The oldest was given a small sum of money from the sale of of his parents’ personal effects and sent away to the town of New Orleanes. The youngest was shipped north to a school in Montreal, Canada. Neither ever returned to Simpleton or its environs. The family never heard from either again.
Nasty Boy left the Earth many other children. Many of these took his name. It was a name altered into many versions over the years, but, in all its subsequent forms, it was an ancestor’s name not a slave master’s name. The men and women who bore it did so with a pride they did not completely understand.
Nasty Boy had not awakened to a day of freedom from his gathering in Africa to the day he died. He was on the way to freedom, not because he had agreed to diminish himself to survive. He had been on his way because the Master knew he would not perform if he was not motivated. The Master knew he would have begun to die before if he had been denied certain fundamentals.
Nasty Boy never knew why the Master struck the bargain with him. Had Nasty Boy lived he might have come to understand. He had showed the Master his humanity and the Master knew, from long experience, that once Nasty Boy recognized his own humanity he would be lost if not treated as a man. Nasty Boy was too good to lose, he had to be dealt with.
Force could not achieve this end. The Master and his kind had all the force they required to beat Nasty Boy and all his kind. All that force would not be enough. Only the twin recognition that Nasty Boy was valuable and the loss of this value was avoidable, made the Master bargain. Nasty Boy knew the lies he lived with but never knew the truth.
Esmerelda's View
One of Essie Tabbara’s earliest memories was being perched upon the big double swing under the live oak limb high on the bluff over looking the river. She could bring that memory back whenever she needed it. She could conger up the breeze as it blew alternately into her face or across the back of her neck, into her hair and across her scalp.
As often as not she was being pushed by her older brother, Samson. Big and strong like his Biblical namesake, Sam Tabbara would push her so high and fast she would close her eyes, close them tight as she descended forward from the high arch and felt the sudden push from behind. She always squealed with delight as she rocketed forward, opening her eyes only when she felt herself stop for the instant it took gravity to grab her and abruptly reverse her headlong flight.
At that instant she would open her eyes to the Mississippi River spread out below her and the high bluff where she flew. In that instant she saw the river as the God saw it, enormous in its width and endless in it meandering path north and south. She saw the big boats and the small trafficking the river, moving the wealth of the land back and forth from places she didn’t know and some she did. She could see the broad fertile plain of the delta, seemingly level and a part of the river, on the Mississippi shore. She saw how small everything, all the concerns of men, were to the river and the land it traversed.
Some days the sky and the land on the horizon were grey, other days they were vibrant in blues and every shade and hue of green known to the Maker. Some days the river rolled by brownish grey, brooding and bubbling in its course. Other days the river shown in reflected sun light as a giant cord composed of silver strings and thread, a river of liquid metal spinning and rolling over on itself like a barber’s pole, as it flowed to the sea.
Always, all its raiment and in every facet, it was her river. It loved and cherished her, no less so in spirit and substance than her father and her mother, no less so than the brother laboring behind her.
She would swing until Sam’s arms ached and he sought to quit. She begged and cajoled and he would agree to continue, soldiering on until pain overcame the desire to please her with delight. Eventually she would learn to swing herself. She would fly in her swing over the land and the river until dark and, if Momma didn’t send Missie to fetch her, beyond.
By the time she was five she knew more of the exultation of the Creator’s joy than any Preacher she ever met.
The river and the plantation she occupied with her family, and the family itself, seemed to be a seamless whole. The one distinguishable from the other only as one face of the river was distinguishable from another. She watched as the seasons of life turned to the tune of the seasons of the year. There she lived absorbing strength and beauty and a certain life view from her environment. As she grew into a young woman she understood her role in the perpetuation of life. She was pleased about the centrality of women in the cycle of things and was all too anxious to play her part.
She had been named for Hugo’s Esmerelda. She had the dark, black eyes and hair of her father and the cream white skin of her mother. Early on she had been told of her namesake, of her courageous, lively nature and took it as a life model. Essie could light a room with her smile and reduce strong men to stammering insecurity with her frown. She was proficient in the art of flirting and could draw conversation from a rock. She learned to manage the home and servants. She knew what furnishings and fixtures had value in the market. She could recognize quality, at least as the concept was understood in her circle, in men and material. She was beautiful, rich, witty, and accomplished in all the domestic arts required of her class.
She was presented to society in New Orleans at sixteen and suitors began to call. Her life became a series of social seasons, each defined by the type of function; balls in the winter, picnics and church socials in the spring and fall, and small, lazy visitations in the hot, humid summer. The winter following her seventeenth year Samson took her to Simpleton to spend a season as the guest of Sam’s college friend Paul Constance. They stayed in the Constance home on the lawn in Simpleton as that family always spent the season in town away from the dull rhythms of winter life on the plantation.
Used to the social life of New Orleans and the countryside surrounding her home, Essie was not overly impressed with the insulated society of Simpleton. She was impressed with Paul.
Paul Constance was what every southern gentleman aspired to be. Strong and handsome, he was skilled in the hunt, the drawing room and the limited business world of the agrarian economy. He was a bit reserved but that, she decided, proved that he was solid, not flighty. Besides, she could tease him into a smile and she beamed in the glow of that smile, once coaxed out of him. She could steer him to topics that were comfortable for him and she did not have to pretend interest. By the time she had him talking, she herself was invested in the subject and was warmed by the attention she received in return for her own.
She saw Paul several times a day and more frequently as time went on when, it seemed to her, he began to seek her out and include her in any activity appropriate for a young lady. She noticed that on days when they were much together, it tired her and, sometimes, she wearied of the intense concentration and effort required to keep him animated and engaged in social intercourse.
Still, the special relationship growing between the two of them was beginning to be noticed. Sly hints about their future together were dropped here and there, dropped by matrons tickled by the renewal of life they envisioned before them, dropped by Missie, Essie’s slave girl, as Essie was dressed or undressed.
Essie blushed at these comments but they excited her. If it was to be, she was eager that it be sooner rather than later. She knew what men and women did together once married and behind closed doors. Her skin hungered for it and her mind had to be disciplined to think and speak of other things.
When they were together occasionally their hands would touch or their arms would brush against one another. At those moments, more even than when she danced in his arms, she tingled with anticipation for physical love with this man. When they danced, she felt the cool restraint of a man moving within a proscribed discipline. This coolness reminded her of the cold taciturn pose he could strike and that she had to assault with a barrage of wit and warm attention.
Dancing required too much concentration on his part and she learned that the charm that worked at table or settee could only confuse and confound him on the floor. This confusion on his part concerned her, though she knew it was only his need to work within the discipline of the dance. She had seen his uninhibited animation, a certain lust for the conversation on matters important to him. While none of these directly involved her, she knew she could capture that animation and lust and turn it to her if they were married.
Like her brother, Paul was six years her senior, that age difference combined with his university education and serious demeanor, when combined with the desire she knew she could elicit, would make him a perfect husband. He would be a husband who would teach her as well as cherish her. She could run his home, bear and raise his children and learn from him matters of the wider world.
Sam Tabbara loved his younger sister. He watched the romantic progress between her and his friend. Sam was pleased with the devotion she showed and the dutiful detachment displayed by Paul. He knew both well enough to know where the attachment was headed. Sam, in the absence of his father, accepted his responsibility to inquire about Paul’s intentions toward his sister. It surprised him when Paul expressed uncertainty about how Essie would receive a declaration.
Sam thought it must be obvious to everyone but Paul where he stood in Essie’s esteem. As best he could, without compromising his sister’s dignity, he assured his friend that any declaration would be warmly received. Paul resolved to bring the matter up at the first appropriate moment.
To be certain Sam sought out his sister and dropped a hint or two, in a lighthearted, teasing way, about what she might expect. Essie, true to her nature would have none of it. “Samson Tabbara!” she adopted the tone and nomenclature of her mother when that lady was exasperated with Sam, “I am teased enough about that gentleman’s intentions. If you know something of what you say, be direct!”
Sam was putty to his sister and could deny her nothing. He told her of what he knew. Essie lit up like the full moon on a crisp autumn night. She spoke no more but released a smile which trilled her brother. She turned and went to her room. She had to plan an appropriate meeting to make her love’s task pleasant and to think through how she may respond with all the warmth decency would allow.
Yes, decency did require some limits, at least prior to their marriage, but she was determined to be not one iota more decent than absolutely necessary. When he made his declaration, she intended to respond by lighting a fire he could only extinguish on their wedding night.
She happened upon him in the formal gardens adjacent to the lawn. He had been pacing and muttering his rehearsal for over an hour. Everyone in the household and most others on the lawn were as aware of his agony. He alone was unaware of himself. The whole atmosphere was taking on an absurd hilarity when she decided to take what initiative she could. She announced her intention to go for a stroll. Of course, she asked if any of the other ladies of the household wished to accompany her. At first Rita, the twelve year old sister of her love jumped enthusiastically. Essie looked crest fallen until Mrs. Constance insisted Rita’s assistance was urgently required in another part of the house. Essie sallied forth alone.
They met as each rounded a hedge from different directions. He was so distracted by his preparations and she was proceeding at such a great pace, they quite literally ran into each other.
“Oh, Mr. Constance, forgive me. I wasn’t watching where I was going.”
“On the contrary Miss Tabbara, it is my fault. I was not paying attention to anything but my thoughts.”
Her breathing was a little labored from her haste and the excitement,inherent in her purpose. “Pray, tell me then of the thoughts you find so captivating.”
It is always amusing to see a grown man blush in a manner expected of a young woman. Paul blushed a deep, full red at this question. He made several starts at a response but could not quite get his feet back under him.
She mitigated his embarrassment, “Well, never mind for now. Let me see if I can take you mind from these weighty matters. Walk with me and tell me how pretty these gardens are and how the day becomes them.”
The smile she gave him as she spoke pleased and eased him. He knew the value of the gift she could bestow. He perceived her to be the ideal of womanhood. She possessed an open countenance and was clearly fond and solicitous of his interests. He knew she had been trained to be all a plantation mistress should be. By all appearances, she earnestly desired to fulfill the role for which she had been trained. She would manage the household of the man she married, bear children, God willing, maintain these social obligations, and do all this without her husband’s constant attention.
All this went through his mind as they strolled the garden paths in silence. He knew what he must do. He still was not completely confident of her response, but, even if she rejected him, who could fault him for taking his chance?
“It is not the beauty of the day that becomes the gardens. It is you who becomes the world. I declare, Miss Tabbara, you grace the whole Earth with your presence. It may be that you do not possess the most delicate beauty God has chosen to bestow on a woman, but it seems so to me”
He had stopped their stroll and spoke these words as he held her shoulders and looked her full in the face. He did not blurt the words or speak above a normal voice, yet she was made to understand the depth of his conviction. She became possessed by a sensation not previously know to her. It was a feeling of pleasure, but with understanding in place of gaiety.
“Miss Tabbara, Esmerelda, every man who knows you must, by nature, love you. No doubt, I am not the most worthy of those, but I am certain that no man could receive, in return, your love and devotion with more gratitude than myself. Miss Tabbara, would you do me the great honor of becoming my wife?”
As she listened to this declaration, the gay, radiant smile that often lit her face gradually returned. Expecting a formal verbal response, Paul was completely nonplussed by the warm, open kiss and embrace she bestowed upon him. Essie had resolved to respond with a preview of the willing, giving physical pleasure they would soon share. She had resolved to take her response to the limits of decency and had done that. Though a little dampened in her enthusiasm by the mildly shocked look on her beloved’s face as she broke away from their kiss, she quickly brushed it away from her consciousness and lingered in a one sided embrace until he, embarrassed, interrupted it.
“My dear! Am I to take that as consent?”
Though he spoke in a not unpleasant tone she knew she had, perhaps, sparked a bit to hot. Still, she was unashamed and knew her love would recall this moment fondly. “Paul, you are my own true love and I will gladly be your wife and, God willing, the mother of your children!”
The exchange had been observed by members of the Constance household and others as well. As a consequence, the pair had little further time to contemplate each other prior to being set upon by family and acquaintances. There were hearty congratulations offered along with one or two sly references to the passion of her response. These last brought mild embarrassed heat to the face of Paul but elicited a fulsome laugh from the girl. The girl did not notice the difference in their responses but the man did.
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The first night of their life together was spent in a room in her father’s house. They had spent a glorious and joyous day in ceremony and celebration. The wedding, as was the custom of the day, took place in the garden of her father’s house. Notables from near and far had been in attendance as it was the merger of two distinguished families of neighboring states.
An orchestra had played and the young couple had danced and celebrated the beginning of their lives together for hours. At last, they retired to the guest suite. Essie was disappointed to find her husband too tired to immediately initiate her into the ways of physical love.
She did recover her composure by breakfast, and blushed appropriately at the teasing she and Paul received from the remaining family and friends. By mid afternoon they had embarked from the landing for the beginning of their wedding trip. The second night they spent in the home of her Uncle in New Orleans. The following day they were to leave for Havana, the exotic capital of the Spanish colony of Cuba.
It was a trip she looked froward to. Not merely as a greater chance to be with her husband undistracted by friends and family, but because she had heard so much about the city’s beauty and mystery from her Uncle.
To protect the physical integrity of the family land, her father’s younger brother had been denied any more than a personal property settlement as an inheritance. He had been given a partnership in a freight-forwarding and brokering company in New Orleans and this had been his career. It had proved to be one he loved and had afforded him the opportunity to travel widely.
Her Uncle Jim often spoke to Essie, easily his favorite blood relative, about his travels. Always he mentioned his affection for Havana. Upon her request, he had arranged the trip she and her husband were about to take and had taken care that part of it included a stay in his home prior to and immediately after the couple’s journey.
Though James Tabbara had been named for the sainted, second son of the Bible, he was more of this world than any of his agrarian relatives. In part, this was due to his nature, part to his status as a second son and part to the wider view of the world inherent in his career. His success depended upon his willingness to accept and work with persons of different cultures from his own and the differing value systems that came with those cultures.
The couple was served a late supper that they shared with Uncle Jim. Naturally enough, Paul was curious about the city and country they were soon to visit. He was somewhat taken aback by his wife’s uncle’s gentle suggestion that, even though slavery was legal and widespread in Cuba, Paul should not be surprised to find significant differences in the relations between the races there than here. Paul pressed Uncle Jim on this point and was shocked when told that marriages between whites of either sex and free Africans was acceptable. This revelation so upset her husband that Essie and her Uncle found themselves struggling to overcome his objections to going on the trip at all.
Only with the Uncle Jim’s assurance that the offending practice was not widespread and need not intrude upon the couple’s enjoyment, did Paul relent.
That night Essie was determined to please her husband, and herself, and applied all the seductive arts an innocent women can command to that purpose. She was successful, after a fashion. Paul would not completely disrobe and thought her wicked for offering to do so. It was, he said, not necessary for either to present him or her self naked to the other to accomplish the night’s business. He was correct, it had not proved necessary, nor, it seemed, did the business require much in the way of preparation or time to complete.
Once over, she was not entirely sure what had happened. She had been poked at, that she knew. She had expected to feel him enter her and he may have, but she was not certain. Obviously, something had happened as one of them, perhaps both, had released a wet, sticky substance that she could now feel between her legs.
She looked at her husband as he rolled away from her. He appeared to be satisfied with her. She, on the other hand, was confused. She wanted to ask him if what had happened was what was supposed to happen. In a way she hoped she had done it properly and he had not been disappointed. In another way, she desperately hoped that was not as it was supposed to be for she had been severely disappointed.
Once or twice, before he fell asleep, she thought to ask him but could not think how to broach the subject. All she knew of the subject was what she had observed on the plantation among the animals, what she felt instinctively and what Missie had told her.
Though Essie’s age, Missie had been bred several times and had produced two offspring. She wished this had happened the night of their wedding so she ask Missie all she needed to know. She would have to discover, through experimentation, a better way or wait until she returned from her trip.
The trip itself went off without major incident. It had proved a success because of her husband’s interest in the Cuban/Spanish culture, particularly their agricultural practices. During the trip they did not often physically couple. She did not blame him. She reproached herself furiously for her inexperience and inability to learn. She felt deeply ashamed and resolved to make the deficiency up by favoring him with those attentions she knew he appreciated and at which she was more than competent.
He was delighted with her devotion to his interests. She gladly acquiesced when he chose to leave the city, and its attractions, to pursue his inquires in the countryside. Her husband left her in the company of the wife of one of her Uncle’s business associates when that associate invited Paul to an evening’s entertainment among the men of his circle. The evening was difficult for both ladies as neither spoke the other’s language.
She had been in bed, though not asleep, for many hours when her husband returned from his foray. He had been drinking the rum favored by the locals but was not overly intoxicated. Once he realized she was awake he told her of the evening and how much fun it had been. He was full of appreciation for the dignity, honor and goodwill of the men he had met. He told her of how well they all spoke of her Uncle, he was esteemed among them.
She listened intently until he drifted off to sleep. She began to weep. She disciplined herself to do so quietly so not wake her beloved. She could smell the perfume of another woman on her husband. It was unmistakable. She could not blame him. He was an older, experienced man. She was completely incompetent at physical love, of course he looked for satisfaction elsewhere. He was so good not to reproach her, if only he would teach her. She could do better and would. There was no reason Paul had to turn to other women if she would only do her duty in a competent manner.
First thing upon her return, she would take Missie aside and find out everything she needed to know. She could do this and she would.
“Oh Missie, I need your help! There is no one else for me to talk to.” Began the conversation Essie knew would start her on the road to being the woman Paul wanted and needed. Paul had been excellent in hiding his disappointment. Had Essie not known of her deficiency she would have assumed Paul was perfectly satisfied with the wife he had chosen. Only the two of them knew how utterly hapless she was in the erotic arts.
In a few short sentences, Essie made Missie aware of the situation and what she needed Missie to explain to her. “Miss Essie, you sure Mr. Paul not happy the way things are? He seem real happy to me. Some times men don’t want no more than something quick.”
“Oh no Missie, he wouldn’t have sought out that other woman if he didn’t need more than I give him.”
“Miss Essie, men not always like that. Sometime it don’t matter what we give ‘em, they want the same thing from some other gal.”
“No, that can’t be it. We’ve been married less than a month. If he found me to his satisfaction he wouldn’t stray this soon. Besides, Paul isn’t like that.”
“Miss Essie, I think they all be like that.”
“Your wrong, I know you are! Another way I know is our joining is not pleasant, not even to me. I just don’t know what I am doing. You have to tell me what to do.”
“How do you mean you don’t like it?”
“Well, it is quick and, except for a little discomfort and the sticky part, I can’t even tell what is happening.”
Missie was thoughtful for a moment. “Miss Essie, maybe it ain’t just you don’t know what is going on. Some times the men don’t know neither.”
This was an interesting notion. Essie had assumed, because of his seniority Paul would have had experience, perhaps in a New Orleans sporting house or from a slave. She had not really considered the possibilities but just assumed he had experience from somewhere. Maybe, he hadn’t. Maybe, that is why he had gone with the woman in Havana, maybe he was just dissatisfied, maybe he was looking for help himself.
This series of thoughts was strangely comforting.
“Well what do I do Missie?”
“Miss Essie, with some men you has to take charge. I’ve had to grab holt and steer ‘em in. From what you say, you may still be fresh. It don’t sound like you been done proper.”
Essie thanked Missie and said a silent prayer of thanks for her. She felt so much better. If she had to take charge she would.
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Samson, your sister is all a man could desire in a wife.” Paul was expounding on his happiness to his friend and brother in law. “She is so young but could give instructions on proper marital deportment to women twice her age. I tell you she possesses all the social graces one could hope for, is efficient in all things and will, otherwise, leave me alone. I have found not one single flaw. I confess, I was a little worried about her wild enthusiasms but have seen no evidence of that since our marriage.”
Sam delighted in his friend’s satisfaction, not only for his sake but for the sake of his sister’s happiness. To see her well and happily married was a thing of contentment.
Tell me, Paul, aside from my wonderful sister, did you find anything else to your taste in Havana?”
“Indeed I did! The society is most congenial. There is a group of fellows I will miss dearly. There is one fellow most particularly well met. We were not often in his company as, I think, there may be some question about his linage, indeed, he may have a taint of Africa about him.”
At this Sam expressed shock and annoyance in equal measure. Paul assured him the man was attached to the finest circles in Havana but was not admitted freely to all the social functions “...but is a good fellow and excellent company. I once spent the better part of an evening and night with him and never tired of his conversation. He and I stayed at it for hours after all the other in the company had retired or gone to their homes.”
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That night Essie resolved to make things right between her husband and herself. She cajoled and persuaded him until he relented. Though it was difficult because of all the bed clothing they wore, she did as Missie advised when feeling herself being poked and prodded, she did take his member in hand, attempting to guide him in.
“My God Essie!” Paul exclaimed as he jerked his body involuntarily toward the ceiling.
This resulted in some pain to him as Essie neglected to release her grip, taken aback as she was by his reaction.
“Damn child! What has taken possession of you? Why would you presume to touch your husband in this manner?”
Essie could think of no excuse that would service the situation and she began to weep. As she did she confessed all her misgivings about her deficiencies as a wife. He calmed himself and became amused. “Essie you shouldn’t listen to a slave in these matters. Slaves are like beasts of the field, they are wild and copulate so. You are a perfect wife. Just this day I was telling your brother that very thing. Please trouble yourself no more.”
His tone was so comforting she did relax and silently reproached herself for seeking out Missie’s counsel. Still an issue troubled her, “If I am so, why did you seek the comfort of another woman in Havana? Do not deny it, I could smell her perfume on you the night you came late to bed.”
“There was no other woman. I passed the time with Arturo, you met him, we toured the plantation of one of his friends. The hour grew late and we shared a hammock as we smoked and drank and talked. If you think back you will remember the sweet perfume water he wore to mask the sweat scent. You commented upon it.”
She did remember. She smiled at her own foolishness and asked him to forgive her. This he readily did and they passed the night in sleep.
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In five years of marriage there was no child. No hint of a child. She had not occupied the same bed room as her husband since they returned to Simpleton from their wedding trip. She could count on the fingers of her hands the times he had joined her in bed since that time. She had spoken once to her mother about this before her mother died.
Her mother suggested that men who were sensible about their wife’s desires often absented themselves from physical coupling. On those times when she desired him she should say so. Essie had tried this and had been gently rebuffed.
She no longer believed in the desire of men and women for each other. That had been a childish dream and she had out grown it. Still, how was she to have children? He professed a desire for an heir but seemed to lose his enthusiasm for even that, once his nephew was born, abated.
Her life began to dry up within her. She could feel it doing so and she began to mourn its loss.
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One particularly scorching day in August she found herself on the plantation her husband inherited from his father. Though this plantation was not the equal of her father’s and certainly had no feature to equal the swing of her youth, it did have a natural artesian spring, the waters of which rose crystal clear and frigid from an almost perfectly circular hole in the Earth. The hole was over five feet in diameter and the waters it released bubbled over the eastern rim of the circle and cascaded down a rocky incline into a tributary of the Pearl.
The spot, since her move here with her husband, had become a favorite of Essie’s. It had a quiet beauty and a sense of ancient mystery.
On this fateful day she went to the spring and, suffering from the heat decided to cool herself with its waters. At first she dipped her hand into the swelling pool and lifted the cold liquid to her forehead. This feeling so pleased her she removed her shoes and stockings and stuck her feet in the pool. The water’s frigid temperature startled her but she kept her feet where they were and she felt herself slowly acclimate to the cold.
After some time she felt somewhat restored and stood up. She was pleased with the effect of the water on her but still felt the heat and was discomforted. She was alone. No one was around the pool at this time of day. The slaves were only allowed to come here in the evening and then only to gather water for themselves and the other livestock. Everyone else in the household was either working the slaves or inside asleep, escaping the heat of the day. It would be hours before anyone ventured this way. It would harm no one if she bathed in the pool.
It was so cold she would not be able stand in it for long. The time she would be unclothed would be brief and the relief she was sure to experience so complete it made no sense not to avail herself of its powers. In a moment she was stripped and in the pool.
The blast of cold water that enveloped her took away her ability to breathe. For an instant, she was afraid she would be unable to breath again or even move. She had never experienced such a violent chill.
She did not drown, as she feared she might. She controlled her body and took one or two swimming strokes across the surface of the pool. In doing so she opened both her arms and legs to the power of the frigid water and felt its healing sting all the more.
On the far side of the pool she climbed out. This was the uphill side of the pool and was composed, partially, of a flat granite outcropping. It was on this rock, heated by the sun, that she stretched herself out to dry and restore her body’s heat.
She felt more alive than she had since those times as a girl on her swing high above the great river. The comfort the heat brought was a stark contrast to the sting of the water and the earlier debilitating, sapping effect of the relentless humidity and heat of the day.
She dozed briefly. She might have slept more had she not been awakened by the crash of a man falling from the tree at the edge of the forest surrounding the spring. She was so startled she momentarily forgot she was naked. She jumped up to see the source of the noise and looked into the eyes of one of her husband’s slaves. She recognized the man but could not call his name.
With a start she remembered her nakedness and made an initial effort to cover herself with her hands and arms. Then she stopped.
The slave was paralyzed, from injury or fear or lust or some combination of the three, she could not tell. She relaxed her arms and stood before him uncovered and unashamed.
“Who are you and why are you spying on me? The Master will deal with you severely if he finds out.”
As she would discover later, the slave’s name was Joseph. The sound of her voice awakened him from his terror at being discovered and he fled, headlong into the forest.
She never felt better. Of course, what she had done, though inadvertent, was dangerous and shameless, but it left her feeling as if she possessed some power she had not previously known. She still felt refreshed and resolved to visit the spring often, perhaps as soon as tomorrow. She dressed and strolled back to the plantation house.
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Joseph was terrified. He had always been a good slave. He had never given the Master or overseer any trouble. He was been born on the plantation and knew no other life. The only mischief he got into was sneaking off in the heat to the spring, and only when he was sent that way for some task or other. On this day he had almost been discovered by the Master’s wife and had hid in the wood, cut off, by her presence, from the path out.
Still, he should have retreated through the woods. He thought he could wait her out and did so to avoid the snakes that curled up in the forest floor to escape the heat. When he saw her undress he was transfixed. He had never seen a white women without clothes, no male slave he knew had ever seen such a thing. He had to look and once he looked he had to watch. When she fell asleep he saw his chance and began to creep out of his hiding place. He had looked one last time and tripped and fell crashing to the ground.
He would die now. He was dead no matter what he did. He could run away but there was nowhere to go. When they caught him, they would kill him as an example to the others. If he stayed she would tell on him and the Master would kill him. His mind was in a panic of terror and despair. He went back to his shack. He wanted to see his mother once more, he wanted to say goodby.
His mother was not at the slave quarters. She had been summoned to the big house for some work considered too laborious for the house slaves. He went there thinking of nothing but death.
In a scene reminiscent of her meeting with her future husband in the gardens of Simpleton, she confronted him in the garden outside the house. When he saw her he lurched and turned to run away. She stopped him with her voice. She asked him if he knew what would happen if she told her husband of his spying. He said he did.
“Well, go about your business, isn’t there somewhere you should be?”
“Yesum, is you not goin to tell?” there was a pathetic note of hope in the misery of his voice. This elicited a smile in spite of herself.
“Perhaps I shall and perhaps I shan’t. What is your name?”
“Joseph, Big Misses, please don’t tell. I never do nothin’ like that befo’ and never agin.”
“Joseph, you just do what I say and maybe I will keep you safe, but you disobey me, ever, and I’ll have my husband send you to Hell! Now go, git!”
Joseph fled. He was not sure if he was saved or not but he was sure he had been told to go. He went. First, he had to return to the spring to fetch the plow part the straw boss had send for. Then he had to run as fast as he could back to the field before he was missed.
As it happened, he was missed. It cost him a lash of the boss’s whip but he counted that as nothing given the events of the day.
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Joseph had been a reluctant lover. His attempts at lovemaking with Essie were complicated by the fact that he did not want her and his terror at what would happen if he was caught. She made it clear he had no choice. To refuse her meant death. If they were caught, she would only say he raped her and his death would not only be certain, it would be slow and painful.
Essie could have had one of the white planters who were her neighbors or one of the foremen as a lover, but none of them would have given her the complete power she had over Joseph. She had been a powerless adjunct to her husband’s life for too long. She relished the idea of possessing complete power over her lover. If she had been completely honest with herself, she would also acknowledge that taking a slave as lover would completely humiliate her husband should she be discovered. That humiliation would be some consolation for his continuing neglect.
It was not hard for her to find times and places where they could meet and practice their forbidden art. Her husband made no demands of her and appreciated when she made none of him. Her duties entitled her to the run of the estate and to a strong male slave to drive and assist her as she chose. Joseph made no mention of their activities to anyone as anyone could betray him. Besides themselves, only Missie knew. Essie often found it convenient to employ Missie as a decoy, Joseph’s supposed love interest.
Over time they became used to each other. Each knew the needs and favorite pleasures of the other and, as dutiful lovers do, made sure to satisfy each other when they could. Joseph lost his reluctance, if not his fear, and found himself increasingly eager to please his mistress.
Essie enjoyed being pleased but also took satisfaction in the pleasure she gave the big, black man. She could reduce him to a stage of weakness one would no suppose possible from the look and feel of his powerful body. She particularly enjoyed bathing him. She loved the way he smelled when cleaned of the sweat and dirt that was otherwise his lot in life. She took pleasure in the arousal of his body as she soaped him and rinsed and dried him.
Through it all Missie warned her. African and White could make a baby. Slave women had them all the time. Essie understood the danger and took what precautions as were available to her but she could not deny herself the pleasures of his flesh. She could not stop. As time went by and no baby came, Essie began to believe she was barren. She knew Joseph was potent. He has fathered many slaves before and after their liaison began. Indeed, Joseph was a prominent figure in her husband’s breeding program.
The knowledge of her barrenness saddened her, but liberated her as well. She no longer had to be cautious. She now applied herself to her lover with a complete abandon.
Of course, she became pregnant. For some time she got by on denial. She bought some time by getting her husband drunk and coaxing him into her bed where he awoke the next morning. He had not performed but he was easy to convince otherwise. He was pleased with the impending arrival of his heir.
She knew she could not conceal her child’s heritage for long after its birth. It might well be born white but would take its natural color within days. If it had it father’s facial features instead of her own, the deceit would not last the time it took to release her afterbirth.
She could not think what to do. Missie could not help her as she would be known as a conspirator and would die along with Joseph. Joseph would be suspected for surely the Master would realize the father was his wife’s constant helper and companion.
Sam arrived soon after he received his sister’s plea for help. Essie’s father was now dead, but she would not have confided in him in any course.
Sam could not believe what he heard. There was no greater transgression a southern, white woman could perpetrate than the one to which his beloved sister had just confessed.
“Essie, tell me this beast took you against your will. You can be saved, your husband will no longer touch you, but you say that would effect no change.”
She saw the wisdom of his counsel, she agreed that the slave would surely die in any event, but she could not denounce him. The time to do that was months earlier.
“Essie, if you do not follow the course I suggest you will die, the baby will die and Missie will die. I could not defend you. You belong to your husband, he, not you, owns your body. That he chooses to ignore you does not relieve you of a duty to fidelity.” Sam began to cry as he said these things. To him, Essie was always to be the little girl in the swing.
“Sam, I know I have been evil and I resolve to change, but you are my brother and the head of my family. My husband may have legal title to me but he has never been a husband to me. He goes frequently to his plantation in Cuba. I do not think he goes for only the business of the farm. He has a particular friend there. There is a different attitude toward the races there. Can I go there for my term. My husband has property there. The baby could be born there, could be said to have died, and an arrangement for its raising could be made. The baby is the blood of our father, of you, it could live and not be a slave in Cuba.”
“And what of you? This could not be hidden from your husband, why would he not denounce you, why would he have you back under his roof?”
“I have no desire ever to be under his roof. Perhaps the enormity of my crime would serve as a deterrent to his denunciation, even with my punishment, his mortification would be great. I could live with you assist your wife in the raising of your children, as I have none of my own.”
“I don’t know how practical your plan may be. It might be wise to get Uncle Jim’s counsel.” Even as he suggested his uncle’s counsel, she objected to any widening of the circle of persons with knowledge of her situation.
Notwithstanding her objection, Sam resolved to go to his uncle. During the week of Sam’s absence, Essie was filled with despair. It crossed her mind more than once that he might choose to abandon her. Her only comfort was the certain stain he and all his family would suffer if her crime became public.
Still, her despair was heightened by the news that Joseph had been killed in an accident at the plantation landing. He had fallen into the wheel of the river boat as it pulled away from the dock. Some eyewitnesses reported that it almost seemed that he jumped into the blades of the wheel.
After Joseph’s death, Essie had to contend with an increasingly morose Missie. She could not be comforted in her despair and grief. This was taken as a sign of her affection for her lost lover and not the overwhelming specter of death confronting her.
Sam did not return. In his stead her Uncle Jim arrived and demanded an audience with her husband. The interview was a stormy one and lasted for some two hours. Essie had no notion of the precise agenda under discussion as Uncle Jim had not spoken to her but went straight into his meeting with her husband.
At the end of the interview, Paul left the house and her Uncle sent for her. “Niece, you are to pack such things as are necessary and precious to you and you and your slave Missie are to leave with me immediately.”
She was overjoyed at this news but unsure about its exact meaning. He brooked no inquiry on her part. She was made to understand that she had exposed the family to irredeemable shame and mortification, shame that would last generations if it became common knowledge. The family was only saved by the knowledge her uncle possessed of a transgression Paul committed against society that was equally grievous, in its way, as was her own. All she needed to know or would be told was that her husband knew nothing of her sin, continued to think the child his and would make no effort to see her or the child in the future. In the eyes of the world she would be blameless, not for her sake but for her family’s.
She left that day. Within the week she and Missie were on a ship sailing to Brazil. She was to live the balance of her life in a house in Rio de Janeiro. Her Uncle had business interests there and she was to live comfortably and quietly. Missie would live with her and would, to the world, be the mother of her child. Missie was given the last name of Slavsen, a name conceived by Uncle Jim in the Nordic style, and that was to be the name of the child.
It was to be said that Essie’s and Paul’s child died at birth.
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In the yard of a house, overlooking the great bay and the huge rock rising from the water like a knife from below, was a swing. The swing was the favorite place of the girl, Josephine Slavsen.
There she lived and grew, the girl, her mother and the white lady with whom they lived.
