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
âââWâat kine er collar dat nigger got rounâ his neck?â er, ef dey knowed âim, âIs yer stole any moâ hams lately?â er âWâat yer take fer yoâ neckliss, Dave?â er some joke er ânuther âbout dat ham.
âFusâ Dave didnâ mine it so much, caze he knowed he hadnâ done nuffin. But bimeby he got so he couldnâ stanâ it no longer, en heâd hide hisseâf in de bushes wâeneber he seed anybody cominâ, en alluz kepâ hisseâf shet up in his cabin atter he come in fum wuk.
âIt wuz monstâus hard on Dave, en bimeby, wâat wid dat ham eberlastinâ en etarnally dragginâ rounâ his neck, he âmenceâ fer ter do en say quare things, en make de niggers wonder ef he waânât gittinâ outân his mine. He got ter gwine rounâ talkinâ ter hisseâf, en singinâ corn-shuckinâ songs, en laffinâ fit ter kill âbout nuffin. En one day he tole one er de niggers he had âskivered a noo way fer ter raise hamsâ âgwine ter pick âem offân trees, en save de expense er smoke-âouses by kyoinâ âem in de sun. En one day he upân tole Mars Walker he got sumpân pertickler fer ter say ter âim; en he tuk Mars Walker off ter one side, en tole âim he wuz gwine ter show âim a place in de swamp whar dey wuz a whole tracâ er lanâ covered wid ham-trees.
âWen Mars Walker hearn Dave talkinâ dis kine er fool-talk, en wâen he seed how Dave wuz âmencinâ ter git behine in his wuk, en wâen he axâ de niggers en dey tole âim how Dave beân gwine on, he âlowed he reckonâ heâd punishâ Dave ernuff, en it mouât do moâ harm dan good fer ter keep de ham on his neck any longer. So he sont Dave down ter de blacksmif-shop en had de ham tuk off. Dey waânât much er de ham lefâ by dat time, fer de sun had melt all de fat, en de lean had all swivelâ up, so dey waânât but thâee er foâ pounâs lefâ.
âWâen de ham had beân tuk offân Dave, folks kinder stopped talkinâ âbout âim so much. But de ham had beân on his neck so long dat Dave had sorter got useâ ter it. He look des lack heâd losâ sumpân fer a day er so atter de ham wuz tuk off, en didnâ âpear ter know wâat ter do wid hisseâf; en fineâly he upân tukân tied a lighterd-knot ter a string, en hid it under de floâ er his cabin, en wâen nobody wuznâ lookinâ heâd take it out en hang it rounâ his neck, en go off in de woods en holler en sing; en he allus tied it rounâ his neck wâen he went ter sleep. Facâ, it âpeared lack Dave done gone clean outân his mine. En atter a wâile he got one er de quarest notions you eber hearn tell un. It wuz âbout dat time dat I come back ter de plantation fer ter wukâ âI had beân out ter Mars Dugalâs yuther place on Beaver Crick for a montâ er so. I had hearn âbout Dave en de bacon, en âbout wâat wuz gwine on on de plantation; but I didnâ bâlieve wâat dey all say âbout Dave, fer I knowed Dave waânât dat kine er man. One day atter I come back, meân Dave wuz choppinâ cotton tergedder, wâen Dave leanâ on his hoe, en motionâ fer me ter come ober close ter âim; en den he retchâ ober en wâispered ter me.
âââJulius,â sezee, âdid yer knowed yer wuz wukkinâ long yer wid a ham?â
âI couldnâ âmagine wâat he meant. âGâway fum yer, Dave,â says I. âYer ainâ wearinâ no ham no moâ; try en fergit âbout dat; ât ainâ gwine ter do yer no good fer ter âmember it.â
âââLook a-yer, Julius,â sezee, âkin yer keep a secret?â
âââCoâse I kin, Dave,â says I. âI doan go rounâ tellinâ people wâat yuther folks says ter me.â
âââKin I trusâ yer, Julius? Will yer cross yoâ heart?â
âI crossâ my heart. âWush I may die ef I tells a soul,â says I.
âDave lookâ at me des lack he wuz lookinâ thoo me en âway on de yuther side er me, en sezee:â â
âââDid yer knowed I wuz turninâ ter a ham, Julius?â
âI tried ter âsuade Dave dat dat wuz all foolishness, en dat he oughtnât ter be talkinâ dat-a-wayâ âhit waânât right. En I tole âim ef heâd des be patienâ, de time would shoâly come wâen eveâything would be straightenâ out, en folks would fine out who de rale rogue wuz wâat stole de bacon. Dave âpeared ter listen ter wâat I say, en promiseâ ter do better, en stop gwine on dat-a-way; en it seem lack he pickâ up a bit wâen he seed dey wuz one pusson didnâ bâlieve dem tales âbout âim.
âHit waânât long atter dat befoâ Mars Archie McIntyre, ober on de Wimbleton road, âmenceâ ter complain âbout somebody stealinâ chickens fum his hen-âouse. De chickens kepâ on gwine, en at lasâ Mars Archie tole de hanâs on his plantation dat he gwine ter shoot de fusâ man he ketch in his hen-âouse. In lessân a week atter he gin dis warninâ, he cotch a nigger in de hen-âouse, en fillâ âim full er squirâl-shot. Wâen he got a light, he âskivered it wuz a strange nigger; en wâen he callâ one er his own sarvenâs, de nigger tole âim it wuz our Wiley. Wâen Mars Archie founâ dat out, he sont ober ter our plantation fer ter tell Mars Dugalâ he had shot one er his niggers, en dat he could senâ ober dere en git wâat wuz lef un âim.
âMars Dugalâ wuz mad at fusâ; but wâen he got ober dere
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