Martin Luther King Jr. Day Anthology by - (short novels to read TXT) 📕

place, I wouldn’ buy dis vimya’d.”

“Why not?” I asked.

“Well, I dunner whe’r you b’lieves in cunj’in er not,—some er de w’ite folks don’t, er says dey don’t,—but de truf er de matter is dat dis yer ole vimya’d is goophered.”

“Is what?” I asked, not grasping the meaning of this unfamiliar word.

“Is goophered, cunju’d, bewitch’.”

He imparted this information with such solemn earnestness, and with such an air of confidential mystery, that I felt somewhat interested, while Annie was evidently much impressed, and drew closer to me.

“How do you know it is bewitched?” I asked.

“I wouldn’ spec’ fer you ter b’lieve me ‘less you know all ‘bout de fac’s. But ef you en young miss dere doan’ min’ lis’n’in’ ter a ole nigger run on a minute er two w’ile you er restin’, I kin ‘splain to yer how it all happen’.”

We assured him that we would be glad to hear how it all happened, and he began to tell us. At first the current of his memory—or imagination—seemed somewhat sluggish; but as his embarrassment wore off, his language flowed more freely, and the story acquired perspective and coherence. As he became more and more absorbed in the narrative, his eyes assumed a dreamy expression, and he seemed to lose sight of his auditors, and to be living over again in monologue his life on the old plantation.

“Ole Mars Dugal’ McAdoo bought dis place long many years befo’ de wah, en I ‘member well w’en he sot out all dis yer part er de plantation in scuppernon’s. De vimes growed monst’us fas’, en Mars Dugal’ made a thousan’ gallon er scuppernon’ wine eve’y year.

“Now, ef dey’s an’thing a nigger lub, nex’ ter ‘possum, en chick’n, en watermillyums, it’s scuppernon’s. Dey ain’ nuffin dat kin stan’ up side’n de scuppernon’ fer sweetness; sugar ain’t a suckumstance ter scuppernon’. W’en de season is nigh ‘bout ober, en de grapes begin ter swivel up des a little wid de wrinkles er ole age,—w’en de skin git sof’ en brown,—den de scuppernon’ make you smack yo’ lip en roll yo’ eye en wush fer mo’; so I reckon it ain’ very ‘stonishin’ dat niggers lub scuppernon’.

“Dey wuz a sight er niggers in de naberhood er de vimya’d. Dere wuz ole Mars Henry Brayboy’s niggers, en ole Mars Dunkin McLean’s niggers, en Mars Dugal’s own niggers; den dey wuz a settlement er free niggers en po’ buckrahs down by de Wim’l’ton Road, en Mars Dugal’ had de only vimya’d in de naberhood. I reckon it ain’ so much so nowadays, but befo’ de wah, in slab’ry times, er nigger didn’ mine goin’ fi’ er ten mile in a night, w’en dey wuz sump’n good ter eat at de yuther een.

“So atter a w’ile Mars Dugal’ begin ter miss his scuppernon’s.

Co’se he ‘cuse’ de niggers er it, but dey all ‘nied it ter de las’. Mars Dugal’ sot spring guns en steel traps, en he en de oberseah sot up nights once’t er twice’t, tel one night Mars Dugal’—he ‘uz a monst’us keerless man—got his leg shot full er cow-peas. But somehow er nudder dey couldn’ nebber ketch none er de niggers. I dunner how it happen, but it happen des like I tell yer, en de grapes kep’ on a-goin des de same.

“But bimeby ole Mars Dugal’ fix’ up a plan ter stop it. Dey ‘uz a cunjuh ‘ooman livin’ down mongs’ de free niggers on de Wim’l’ton Road, en all de darkies fum Rockfish ter Beaver Crick wuz feared uv her. She could wuk de mos’ powerfulles’ kind er goopher,—

could make people hab fits er rheumatiz, er make ‘em des dwinel away en die; en dey say she went out ridin’ de niggers at night, for she wuz a witch ‘sides bein’ a cunjuh ‘ooman. Mars Dugal’

hearn ‘bout Aun’ Peggy’s doin’s, en begun ter ‘flect whe’r er no he couldn’ git her ter he’p him keep de niggers off’n de grapevimes. One day in de spring er de year, ole miss pack’ up a basket er chick’n en poun’-cake, en a bottle er scuppernon’ wine, en Mars Dugal’ tuk it in his buggy en driv ober ter Aun’ Peggy’s cabin. He tuk de basket in, en had a long talk wid Aun’ Peggy.

De nex’ day Aun’ Peggy come up ter de vimya’d. De niggers seed her slippin’ ‘roun’, en dey soon foun’ out what she ‘uz doin’

dere. Mars Dugal’ had hi’ed her ter goopher de grapevimes. She sa’ntered ‘roun’ mongs’ de vimes, en tuk a leaf fum dis one, en a grape-hull fum dat one, en a grape-seed fum anudder one; en den a little twig fum here, en a little pinch er dirt fum dere,—en put it all in a big black bottle, wid a snake’s toof en a speckle’

hen’s gall en some ha’rs fum a black cat’s tail, en den fill’ de bottle wid scuppernon’ wine. W’en she got de goopher all ready en fix’, she tuk ‘n went out in de woods en buried it under de root uv a red oak tree, en den come back en tole one er de niggers she done goopher de grapevimes, en a’er a nigger w’at eat dem grapes ‘ud be sho ter die inside’n twel’ mont’s.

“Atter dat de niggers let de scuppernon’s ‘lone, en Mars Dugal’

didn’ hab no ‘casion ter fine no mo’ fault; en de season wuz mos’

gone, w’en a strange gemman stop at de plantation one night ter see Mars Dugal’ on some business; en his coachman, seein’ de scuppernon’s growin’ so nice en sweet, slip ‘roun’ behine de smoke-house, en et all de scuppernon’s he could hole. Nobody didn’ notice it at de time, but dat night, on de way home, de gemman’s hoss runned away en kill’ de coachman. W’en we hearn de noos, Aun’ Lucy, de cook, she up ‘n say she seed de strange nigger eat’n’ er de scuppernon’s behine de smoke-house; en den we knowed de goopher had b’en er wukkin. Den one er de nigger chilluns runned away fum de quarters one day, en got in de scuppernon’s, en died de nex’ week. W’ite folks say he die’ er de fevuh, but de niggers knowed it wuz de goopher. So you k’n be sho de darkies didn’ hab much ter do wid dem scuppernon’ vimes.

“W’en de scuppernon’ season ‘uz ober fer dat year, Mars Dugal’

foun’ he had made fifteen hund’ed gallon er wine; en one er de niggers hearn him laffin’ wid de oberseah fit ter kill, en sayin’

dem fifteen hund’ed gallon er wine wuz monst’us good intrus’ on de ten dollars he laid out on de vimya’d. So I ‘low ez he paid Aun’

Peggy ten dollars fer to goopher de grapevimes.

“De goopher didn’ wuk no mo’ tel de nex’ summer, w’en ‘long to’ds de middle er de season one er de fiel’ han’s died; en ez dat lef’

Mars Dugal’ sho’t er han’s, he went off ter town fer ter buy anudder. He fotch de noo nigger home wid ‘im. He wuz er ole nigger, er de color er a gingy-cake, en ball ez a hoss-apple on de top er his head. He wuz a peart ole nigger, do’, en could do a big day’s wuk.

“Now it happen dat one er de niggers on de nex’ plantation, one er ole Mars Henry Brayboy’s niggers, had runned away de day befo’, en tuk ter de swamp, en ole Mars Dugal’ en some er de yuther nabor w’ite folks had gone out wid dere guns en dere dogs fer ter he’p ‘em hunt fer de nigger; en de han’s on our own plantation wuz all so flusterated dat we fuhgot ter tell de noo han’ ‘bout de goopher on de scuppernon’ vimes. Co’se he smell de grapes en see de vimes, an atter dahk de fus’ thing he done wuz ter slip off ter de grapevimes ‘dout sayin’ nuffin ter nobody. Nex’ mawnin’ he tole some er de niggers ‘bout de fine bait er scuppernon’ he et de night befo’.

“W’en dey tole ‘im ‘bout de goopher on de grapevimes, he ‘uz dat tarrified dat he turn pale, en look des like he gwine ter die right in his tracks. De oberseah come up en axed w’at ‘uz de matter; en w’en dey tole ‘im Henry be’n eatin’ er de scuppernon’s, en got de goopher on ‘im, he gin Henry a big drink er w’iskey, en ‘low dat de nex’ rainy day he take ‘im ober ter Aun’ Peggy’s, en see ef she wouldn’ take de goopher off’n him, seein’ ez he didn’

know nuffin erbout it tel he done et de grapes.

“Sho nuff, it rain de nex’ day, en de oberseah went ober ter Aun’

Peggy’s wid Henry. En Aun’ Peggy say dat bein’ ez Henry didn’

know ‘bout de goopher, en et de grapes in ign’ance er de quinseconces, she reckon she mought be able fer ter take de goopher off’n him. So she fotch out er bottle wid some cunjuh medicine in it, en po’d some out in a go’d fer Henry ter drink.

He manage ter git it down; he say it tas’e like whiskey wid sump’n bitter in it. She ‘lowed dat ‘ud keep de goopher off’n him tel de spring; but w’en de sap begin ter rise in de grapevimes he ha’ ter come en see her agin, en she tell him w’at e’s ter do.

“Nex’ spring, w’en de sap commence’ ter rise in de scuppernon’

vime, Henry tuk a ham one night. Whar’d he git de ham? I doan know; dey wa’nt no hams on de plantation ‘cep’n’ w’at ‘uz in de smoke-house, but I never see Henry ‘bout de smoke-house. But ez I wuz a-sayin’, he tuk de ham ober ter Aun’ Peggy’s; en Aun’ Peggy tole ‘im dat w’en Mars Dugal’ begin ter prume de grapevimes, he mus’ go en take ‘n scrape off de sap whar it ooze out’n de cut een’s er de vimes, en ‘n’int his ball head wid it; en ef he do dat once’t a year de goopher wouldn’ wuk agin ‘im long ez he done it.

En bein’ ez he fotch her de ham, she fix’ it so he kin eat all de scuppernon’ he want.

“So Henry ‘n’int his head wid de sap out’n de big grapevime des ha’f way ‘twix’ de quarters en de big house, en de goopher nebber wuk agin him dat summer. But de beatenes’ thing you eber see happen ter Henry. Up ter dat time he wuz ez ball ez a sweeten’

‘tater, but des ez soon ez de young leaves begun ter come out on de grapevimes de ha’r begun ter grow out on Henry’s head, en by de middle er de summer he had de bigges’ head er ha’r on de plantation. Befo’ dat, Henry had tol’able good ha’r ‘roun de aidges, but soon ez de young grapes begun ter come Henry’s ha’r begun ter quirl all up in little balls, des like dis yer reg’lar grapy ha’r, en by de time de grapes got ripe his head look des like a bunch er grapes. Combin’ it didn’ do no good; he wuk at it ha’f de night wid er Jim Crow[1], en think he git it straighten’

out, but in de mawnin’ de grapes ‘ud be dere des de same. So he gin it up, en tried ter keep de grapes down by havin’ his ha’r cut sho’t.

[1] A small card, resembling a curry-comb in construction, and used by negroes in the rural districts instead of a comb.

“But dat wa’nt de quares’ thing ‘bout de goopher. When Henry come ter de plantation, he wuz gittin’