Barracoon: The Story of the Last Black Cargo by Zora Neale Hurston

Author:Zora Neale Hurston
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
Tags: African American, Ethnic Studies, History, Slavery, Social History, Social Science
Publisher: HarperCollins
Published: 2018-05-08T03:00:00+00:00

XII

Alone

One night Seely wake up in de night and say, ‘Cudjo wake up. I dream about our chillun. Look lak dey cold.’ I tell her she think too much. Go back to sleep. It hurtee me, ’cause it a cold night in November in de 1908 and I ’member how Seely used to visit de chillun when dey was little to see dey got plenty quilts, so dey keep warm, you unnerstand me. De nexy day, she say ‘Cudjo, come on less we go see our chilluns grave. So I say yes, but I try not take her ’cause I ’fraid she worry ’bout dem. So I go in de church and makee lak I busy so she furgitee de graveyard. When I come out de church, I don’t see her nowhere, so I look cross de hill and I see her in de family lot. I see Seely goin’ from one her chillun grave to de other, lak she cover dem up wid mo’ quilts.

“De nexy week my wife lef’ me. Cudjo doan know. She ain’ been sick, but she die. She doan want to leave me. She cry ’cause she doan want me be lonesome. But she leave me and go where her chillun. Oh Lor’! Lor’! De wife she de eyes to de man’s soul. How kin I see now, when I ain’ gottee de eyes no mo’?

“De nexy month my Aleck he die. Den I jes lak I come from de Afficky soil. I got nobody but de daughter-in-law, Mary, and de grandchillun. I tellee her she my son’s wife so she stay in de compound and she take de land when I go wid Seely and our chillun.

“Ole Charlie, he de oldest one come from de Afficky soil. One Sunday after my wife left me he come wid all de others dat come cross de water and say, ‘Uncle Cudjo, make us a parable.’

“‘Well den,’ I say, ‘You see Ole Charlie dere. S’pose he stop here on de way to church. He got de parasol ’cause he think it gwine rain when he leave de house. But he look at de sky and ’cide hit ain’ gwine rain so he set it dere by de door an’ go on to church. After de preachin’ he go on home ’cause he think de parasol at Cudjo house. It safe. He say, “I git it nexy time I go dat way.” When he come home he say to one de chillun, “Go to Cudjo house and tellee him I say sendee me my parasol.”

“‘De parasol it pretty. I likee keep dat one.’ But I astee dem all, ‘Is it right to keep de parasol?’ Dey all say, ‘No it belong to Charlie.’

“‘Well,’ I say, ‘my wife, she b’long to God. He lef’ her by my door.’

“I ’preciate my countrymen dey come see me when dey know I lonely. Another time dey come to me and say, ‘Uncle Cudjo, make us another parable.’

“I bow my head in my hands, den I lift it up again.

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