Little Black Girl Lost 4 by Keith Lee Johnson Page A

family name and where your people came from?”
    Herman frowned. “I don’t think he knew either.” He had never even considered the questions before now. As they continued walking, he thought about the questions. Then he said, “I don’t know that it makes a difference, ma’am. I’m here now, and that’s all that matters. Monsieur Torvell and his wife treat me and my wife almost like family, and that’s good enough for me, I guess.”
    â€œWell . . . did your father at least teach you your language?”
    â€œThe only language I know is the French language, ma’am.”
    Good. “What about your wife? Was she born here too?”
    â€œYes. We grew up together. Monsieur Torvell thought we would make a wonderful couple. He put us together and we’ve been together ever since.”
    â€œSo did you have to marry her? Did you have a choice?”
    â€œI suppose I could have said no, but Marcia’s a good woman. She’s been good to me. We’re happy together.”
    Ibo knew then to change the subject. She had gotten the information she wanted without him suspecting anything—a lesson she had picked up from Iago, a character in Othello.
    She quickly deduced that Herman had no desire for freedom, which made him a potential enemy. What made matters worse was that he actually thought he could be happy in captivity. She would be as pleasant as she could be, in case he was indeed a spy. If he was a spy, she wanted him to tell the Torvells and Rutgers that she was sweet and accommodating. She wanted them to be relaxed, just as Amir had told her months ago. And when they least expected it, they would come out of the shadows and crush them—Herman too.
    â€œHow long will you be here, ma’am?”
    â€œA few days, I guess. I’m not really sure. Why?”
    â€œBecause the slaves are restless. I think the Maroons might be attacking again soon.”
    â€œThe Maroons?”
    â€œYes, ma’am. They’re a bunch of savages bent on killing good Christians for no good reason.”
    â€œBy good Christians, do you mean the Torvells?”
    â€œYes, me and Marcia too.”
    â€œIs that what they told you?”
    â€œNo, the field slaves and the house slaves don’t get along, ma’am. But I’ve seen enough to know that we have reason to be watchful.”
    â€œYou mean none of the slaves get along?”
    â€œNo. We don’t trust them and they don’t trust us. A woman that looks as good as you might as well get used to it. I suspect that you’ll be working in the house when you get to New Orleans, ma’am. That would make you a house slave. I don’t think it’ll be any different there than here. Besides . . . I think the white folk prefer it that way. Makes them feel safe when we don’t get along.”
    â€œYou have no desire to be free, Herman? You have no desire to come and go as you please?”
    â€œNot really. Things are fine just the way they are. It’s the natural order of things, Monsieur Torvell says. I love the Torvells and they treat us good, as I said before. We live in the big house. We eat well. We get to wear the Torvells’ hand-me-downs. It’s a nice life.
    â€œWhen you get to New Orleans, you’ll see what I mean. Good-looking woman like you won’t have to work in the field. You’ll be your master’s bed wench. As long as he’s happy with you, you’ll have the best that a black woman can get.
    â€œAnyway, I think it best you stay on the ship at night for however long you’re here.”
    Curious, she asked, “Why? You think the Maroons would hurt me? I have done nothing to make them attack me, Herman.”
    â€œIf you’re having dinner in the big house, you’re in danger. The Maroons will think you helped the Torvells, and that would be reason enough to kill you.”
    â€œWould you help the