mammy cried for almost a year when they sold him away to a plantation in Fayetteville, North Carolina. I reckon I was âbout eight, but I remember real good.â
âYou mean you never saw him again?â
âNever. Massa Wileyâs money got low âcause he had a bad cotton season that year. My pappy had been their blacksmith for so long that he wasnât much good in the field. They sold him while my mammy was cooking supper at the big house that used to be right over yonder. When she got home, Pappy was gone.â
âWhat happened to your ma?â I asked as I looked at the empty space where the big house once sat.
âShe cried herself to death. Her heart broke in half. Yes, sir, my mammy went away from here the next year. I lived with my sisters and brothers till I married Celie Mae.â
Mr. Bro. Wiley didnât say nothing for a minute. His old black wrinkled face looked darker than ever.
He stared at Ole River. The waves were big like Mr. Bro. Wiley said they get before a storm, but no storm was coming. That day the sky was bluer than I had ever seen it. Not one cloud, but the river was moving as if Ole River was talking back to him.
âThere are things that donât nobody but me, the Lord, and Ole River know.â
Then Mr. Bro. Wiley helped me pull another big fish out of Ole River. He never looked at me. Not one time. He kept his eyes on the water. I reached over and touched him on the knee. I wanted him to know that I was there for him the way Ma said folk supposed to be when they love somebody.
â¢Â â¢Â â¢
I thought about all the good times we had together as my bathwater got cold. At least I had his mamaâs picture to hold on to. I had his watch and the slave papers. I would surely take good care of his things.
No sooner had Iâd washed under my arms, Mama yelled from the kitchen again, âBean, drag your water outside and dump it before folk start to come. Donât nobody want to see your nasty bathwater.â
âYes, Ma,â I answered. I finished washing up and put on my clothes. Then I drug the bathtub with wheels on it outside. After I dumped the water in the backyard under the pecan tree, I ran in the kitchen for supper.
âStop that running, Bean,â Papa said while loading his plate with food. We had more food on the table than weâve had all year. Mama didnât seem to be looking, so I filled my plate with food too.
âSlow down-down with your eating, boy. You gonna choke to death,â Papa said.
âDonât talk like that when you know Mr. Bro. Wiley is dead in the other room. That is downright disrespectful,â Ma said to Papa.
âYou-you right, Wife.â
âCan I be excused now?â I asked, swallowing my last piece of chicken.
âWhat about dessert?â Ma asked.
âIâll eat dessert later.â She reached over and touched my forehead.
âYou sick, Bean?â
âI ainât sick at all. I just want to go on the porch and wait for Pole.â I looked at Papa. He still hadnât said a word about me and Pole peeping at Mr. Bro. Wiley.
âGo ahead,â Ma said.
Truth was I wanted to see who else was gonna bring sweets over. I knew it wasnât right to lie like Uncle Goat. As soon as I thought about him, he came walking through the back door still dressed in his work clothes acting as if he didnât know about the sittinâ up.
âHey, Sister. Hey, Bean. Hey, Bro.â He gave Ma a big kiss.
âHey, Brother.â
âI heard tell two hundred folk coming tonight,â Uncle Goat said, grabbing a piece of chicken.
âWash your hands, nasty.â Ma pushed her lying brotherâs hand out of her chicken bowl. âAnd who in the Sam Hill told you two hundred people coming over here tonight?â
âYeah, who-who, Goat?â Papa asked.
âFolk in the âbacco field said so today,â Uncle Goat said with his
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