The Conjure Woman Charles W. Chesnutt (best fiction novels .TXT) đ
- Author: Charles W. Chesnutt
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âââTurnt ter clay! turnt ter clay! turnt ter clay!â
âHe looked all rounâ, but he couldnâ see nobody but a big bullfrog settinâ on a log on de yuther side er de crick. Anâ wâen he turnt rounâ anâ staâted back in de woods, he heared de same thing behinâ âim.
âââTurnt ter clay! turnt ter clay! turnt ter clay!â
âDem woâds kepâ ringinâ in âis yeahs âtil he finâlly âlowed dey wuz bounâ ter be so, er eâse dey wouldnâ a bâen tol ter âim, anâ dat he had libbed on clay so long anâ had eat so much, dat he must âaâ jes nachâly turnt ter clay!â
âImperious Caesar, turned to clay,
Might stop a hole to keep the wind away,â
I murmured parenthentically.
âYas, suh,â said the old man, âturnt ter clay. But youâs mistook in de name, suh; hit wuz Ben, you âmember, not Caesar. Ole Mars Marrabo did hab a nigger nameâ Caesar, but dat wuz anudder one.â
âDonât interrupt him, John,â said my wife impatiently. âWhat happened then, Julius?â
âWell, poâ Ben didnâ know wâat ter do. He had beân lonesome ernuff befoâ, but now he didnâ eben hab his own seâf ter âsoâciate wid, fer he felt moâ lak a stranger ân he did lak Ben. In a day er so moâ he âmence ter wonder whuther he wuz libbinâ er not. He had hearn âbout folks turninâ ter clay wâen dey wuz dead, anâ he âlowed maybe he wuz dead anâ didnâ knowed it, anâ dat wuz de reason wây eveâbody run erway fâm âim anâ wouldnâ hab nuffinâ ter do wid âim. Anâ ennyhow, he âlowed ef he waânât dead, he moughtâs well be. He wandeâed rounâ a day er so moâ, anâ finâlly de lonesomeness, anâ de sleepinâ out in de woods, âmongsâ de snakes anâ scoâpions, anâ not habbinâ nuffinâ fit ter eat, âmence ter tell on him, moâ anâ moâ, anâ he kepâ gittinâ weakah anâ weakah âtil one day, wâen he went down by de crick fer ter git a drink er water, he founâ his limbs gittinâ so stiff hit âuz all he could do ter crawl up on de bank anâ lay down in de sun. He laid dere âtil he died, anâ de sun beat down on âim, anâ beat down on âim, anâ beat down on âim, fer thâee er foâ days, âtil it baked âim as haâd as a brick. Anâ den a big winâ come erlong anâ blowed a tree down, anâ it fell on âim anâ smashed âim all ter pieces, anâ grounâ âim ter powder. Anâ den a big rain come erlong, anâ washed âim in de crick, âan eber sence den de water in dat crickâs bâen jesâ as yer sees it now. An dat wuz de eenâ er poâ lonesome Ben, anâ datâs de reason wây I knows dat clayâll make brick anâ wây I doan nebber lak ter see no black folks eatân it.â
My wife came of a family of reformers, who could never contemplate an evil without seeking an immediate remedy. When I decided that the bank of edible clay was not fit for brickmaking, she asked me if I would not have it carted away, suggesting at the same time that it could be used to fill a low place in another part of the plantation.
âIt would be too expensive,â I said.
âOh, no,â she replied, âI donât think so. I have been talking with Uncle Julius about it, and he says he has a nephew who is out of employment, and who will take the contract for ten dollars, if you will furnish the mule and cart, and board him while the job lasts.â
As I had no desire to add another permanent member to my household, I told her it would be useless; that if the people did not get clay there they would find it elsewhere, and perhaps an inferior quality which might do greater harm, and that the best way to stop them from eating it was to teach them self-respect, when she had opportunity, and those habits of industry and thrift whereby they could get their living from the soil in a manner less direct but more commendable.
A Victim of Heredity Or, Why the Darkey Loves ChickenI went to North Carolina a few years after the war with some hopeful views in regard to the colored people. It was my idea that with the larger opportunities of freedom they would improve gradually and learn in due time to appreciate the responsibilities of citizenship. This opinion, based on simple faith in human nature, which is much the same the world over, I never saw any good reason to change.
There were a few of my dusky neighbors, however, who did not shake off readily the habits formed under the old system, and I suffered more or less, from petty thievery. So long as it was confined to grapes on the vine, or roasting-ears, hanging fruit, or an occasional watermelon, I did not complain so much; but one summer, after several raids upon my henhouse, I determined to protect my property. I therefore kept watch one night, and caught a chicken-thief in the very act. I locked him up in a strongly-built smokehouse, where I thought he would be safe until morning.
I made up my mind, before I went to sleep, that an example must be made of this miscreant. Knowing that the law in North Carolina, as elsewhere, was
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