The Conjure Woman Charles W. Chesnutt (best fiction novels .TXT) đ
- Author: Charles W. Chesnutt
Book online «The Conjure Woman Charles W. Chesnutt (best fiction novels .TXT) đ». Author Charles W. Chesnutt
Circumstances that afterwards came to my knowledge created in my mind a strong suspicion that Julius may have played a more than unconscious part in this transaction. Among other significant facts was his appearance, the Sunday following the purchase of the horse, in a new suit of store clothes, which I had seen displayed in the window of Mr. Solomon Cohenâs store on my last visit to town, and had remarked on account of their striking originality of cut and pattern. As I had not recently paid Julius any money, and as he had no property to mortgage, I was driven to conjecture to account for his possession of the means to buy the clothes. Of course I would not charge him with duplicity unless I could prove it, at least to a moral certainty, but for a long time afterwards I took his advice only in small doses and with great discrimination.
Sisâ Beckyâs PickaninnyWe had not lived in North Carolina very long before I was able to note a marked improvement in my wifeâs health. The ozone-laden air of the surrounding piney woods, the mild and equable climate, the peaceful leisure of country life, had brought about in hopeful measure the cure we had anticipated. Toward the end of our second year, however, her ailment took an unexpected turn for the worse. She became the victim of a settled melancholy, attended with vague forebodings of impending misfortune.
âYou must keep up her spirits,â said our physician, the best in the neighboring town. âThis melancholy lowers her tone too much, tends to lessen her strength, and, if it continue too long, may be fraught with grave consequences.â
I tried various expedients to cheer her up. I read novels to her. I had the hands on the place come up in the evening and serenade her with plantation songs. Friends came in sometimes and talked, and frequent letters from the North kept her in touch with her former home. But nothing seemed to rouse her from the depression into which she had fallen.
One pleasant afternoon in spring, I placed an armchair in a shaded portion of the front piazza, and filling it with pillows led my wife out of the house and seated her where she would have the pleasantest view of a somewhat monotonous scenery. She was scarcely placed when old Julius came through the yard, and, taking off his tattered straw hat, inquired, somewhat anxiously:â â
âHow is you feelinâ dis atternoon, maâm?â
âShe is not very cheerful, Julius,â I said. My wife was apparently without energy enough to speak for herself.
The old man did not seem inclined to go away, so I asked him to sit down. I had noticed, as he came up, that he held some small object in his hand. When he had taken his seat on the top step, he kept fingering this objectâ âwhat it was I could not quite make out.
âWhat is that you have there, Julius?â I asked, with mild curiosity.
âDis is my rabbit foot, suh.â
This was at a time before this curious superstition had attained its present jocular popularity among white people, and while I had heard of it before, it had not yet outgrown the charm of novelty.
âWhat do you do with it?â
âI kyars it wid me fer luck, suh.â
âJulius,â I observed, half to him and half to my wife, âyour people will never rise in the world until they throw off these childish superstitions and learn to live by the light of reason and common sense. How absurd to imagine that the forefoot of a poor dead rabbit, with which he timorously felt his way along through a life surrounded by snares and pitfalls, beset by enemies on every hand, can promote happiness or success, or ward off failure or misfortune!â
âIt is ridiculous,â assented my wife, with faint interest.
âDatâs wâat I tells dese niggers rounâ heah,â said Julius. âDe foâ-foot ainâ got no power. It has ter be de hinâ-foot, suhâ âde lefâ hinâ-foot er a grabe-yaâd rabbit, killt by a cross-eyed nigger on a daâk night in de full er de moon.â
âThey must be very rare and valuable,â I said.
âDey is kinder skaâce, suh, en dey ainâ no âmount er money could buy mine, suh. I mought lenâ it ter anybody I sot stoâ by, but I wouldnâ sell it, no indeed, suh, I wouldnâ.â
âHow do you know it brings good luck?â I asked.
âââCaâse I ainâ had no bad luck sence I had it, suh, en Iâs had dis rabbit foot fer foâty yeahs. I had a good marster befoâ de wah, en I waânât solâ erway, en I wuz sot free; en dat âuz all good luck.â
âBut that doesnât prove anything,â I rejoined. âMany other people have gone through a similar experience, and probably more than one of them had no rabbitâs foot.â
âLaw, suh! you doan hafter prove âbout de rabbit foot! Eveâybody knows dat; leasâways eveâybody rounâ heah knows it. But ef it has ter be proveâ ter folks wâat waânât bawn en raiseâ in dis naberhood, dey is aâ easy way ter prove it. Is I eber tolâ you de tale er Sisâ Becky en her pickaninny?â
âNo,â I said, âlet us hear it.â I thought perhaps the story might interest my wife as much or more than the novel I had meant to read from.
âDis yer Becky,â Julius began, âuseter bâlong ter ole Kunnel Penâleton, who owned a plantation down on de Wimâlâton Road, âbout ten miles fum heah, des befoâ you gits ter Black Swamp. Dis yer Becky wuz a fielâ-hanâ, en a monstâus good âun. She had a husbanâ oncet, a nigger wâat bâlonged on de nexâ plantation, but de man wâat owned her husbanâ died, en his lanâ en his niggers had ter be solâ fer ter pay his debts. Kunnel Penâleton âlowed heâd âaâ bought dis nigger, but he had beân bettinâ
Comments (0)