Chapter Forty-seven
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And how did you enjoy the flooding of the rice plants?” my uncle said to me that night when the first course of our evening meal was set before us.
(My uncle, about whom more in a moment, was sitting in front of a full plate of food—meat, rice—a bountiful meal produced by Precious Sally the slave cook—but he was not eating.)
“Enjoy, Uncle? I found it quite enlightening.”
“Isaac is a good guide, is he not?”
“Oh, yes, yes, he is.”
“Quite a good fellow, that Isaac,” my uncle said.
“Good?” said my aunt. “How do you know he is good?”
“He does good work,” my uncle said.
“And work is everything?” My aunt seemed quite annoyed.
“We have to keep an eye on it,” my uncle said. “The price of rice is down, the cost of shipping goes up. We have to pay good money for flour and meat to feed the…” He broke off, and suddenly dropped his eyes and rested his head on his chin.
“You were saying?” My aunt spoke as if she actually wanted to know what he spoke about.
My uncle looked up, seemingly startled to find himself where he had been just a moment before. He stared directly at me.
“To feed the niggers, you were saying,” my cousin said.
“Please,” said Rebecca. She nodded her head toward Abraham, who sat silently observing the family exchange.
Turning to Jonathan, my uncle said, “I do not like that word.”
“Africans, then,” my cousin said.
My uncle seemed to have regained all of the vigor which momentarily he had appeared to have lost.
“Africans? Southern-born? I truly do not know the exact figures. We should do a census. So many have been born, so many have died. Now Isaac’s father, he was African-born, yes?”
“Yes,” my cousin said.
“Is he alive or dead?” My uncle spoke as though he expected an immediate reply.
“I do not know,” my cousin said.
“Let us find out,” my uncle said.
“Jonathan,” my aunt said, “you will do this?”
“A census?” my uncle said. “An accounting? Let Isaac do it. Better a slave, who will find out all the truth than one of us, to whom they will lie if they believe they must.”
Rebecca, Jonathan’s wife, cleared her throat and said, “Isaac reads and writes now.”
“Yes, that is marvelous,” my cousin Jonathan said. “Isaac is a reader and writer.” By his tone I could not tell whether or not he thought this was a good thing or a bad thing.
“He could do a census, that is what I mean,” said Rebecca.
My uncle leaned across the table and said to me, “Isaac took you to the fields today, did he not?”
“He did, sir. It was quite interesting.”
“You will find the harvest quite interesting, too.”
I then spoke up, declaring from my heart.
“Uncle, I am going to miss the harvest.”
Everyone at the table turned his attention to me.
“You’re mistaken,” my uncle said. “The harvest comes in the next two months.”
I stared at the food heaped high on my plate and when I looked up I noticed that Precious Sally was watching me from the doorway. Not wanting to insult her, I carved myself a bit of meat and began to chew. It tasted dry and slightly earthy, as though it had been dropped in the mud. The rest of the family settled back to eating while I spit the meat back out on my plate.
“I am returning to New York on the next ship out,” I said.
“What?”
My uncle sputtered and showered the place before him with his spittle.
“Surely you’re joking,” my cousin said.
“I am not joking,” I said. “I am leaving as soon as I can.”
“Nephew,” my uncle said, “dear Nathaniel, you must not think of leaving. We need you to stay and report to your father.”
Jonathan pursed his lips and took a swallow of wine.
“It is our peculiar institution,” he said. “He does not want to be a part of it.”
“No, I do not,” I said. “I am not condemning it. I just do not want to be part of it, no.”
“Oh, so you will return to New York and tell your father that you cannot bear the thought of investing in an enterprise such as ours?”
“My father will do whatever it is he wants to do,” I said. “I make no decisions for him.”
“But you are here to report for him,” Jonathan said. “Leaving so precipitously, my cousin, will say a lot to him.”
“It will say more about me than about you,” I said. “I am just not much for farming. I am a city boy, Cousin. I am weary of the country.”
My uncle made a sputtering noise with his lips and his head swayed from side to side, and for a moment I worried that I might have caused him to suffer a seizure.
My aunt thought the same. She reached over to touch him on the face and said his name.
“I do not want you to worry,” she went on. “We are going to find a way.”
“Yes, yes,” he responded. “I am merely surprised, and distraught. Nothing more. But that is sufficient, is it not?” He pulled at his collar. “The heat, the heat. Do you suffer too much from this damnable heat, nephew?”
I would have spoken, if I had something else to say. But my cousin put in his opinion.
“Father,” Jonathan said. “He mentioned nothing of the heat.”
“Then it is other things. The isolation. Sir?” He pointed a finger at me. “I promise you more of town. You are a city person, you need more of it to survive. So!” He patted the palm of his hand against the table. “Yes, yes, we all go to town once a week, at least, to dinners, to the synagogue, of course. And on that subject, Rebecca, dear daughter-in-law, please tell your cousin by marriage what you were recently telling me.”
Rebecca, who remained silent throughout these exchanges, touched the tip of her napkin to her lips and said, “Cousin Nathaniel, I was hoping that you would join me in the conduct of my work with the slaves.”
“Perfect,” my uncle said, “perfect, perfect, perfect. You, sir, will have a hand in the making of citizens out of the stuff of slaves.”
“It is certainly an admirable project,” I could not help but say.
“Then you will consider staying to work on it?”
“I will consider it, yes,” I said, feeling myself turn on a pivot.
“An admirable idea,” my cousin said. “You can only help the poor slaves by staying.”
“I think it sounds just lovely,” my aunt said.
“I’m so glad to hear this,” Rebecca said.
“But dear daughter-in-law, there was something else, was there not?” my uncle said.
“Oh, yes,” Rebecca said, and it was quite odd, because for a moment she appeared to be blushing.
“Nathaniel, you recall my cousin Anna?”
“I do.”
I was trying to be polite, but Rebecca took this as enthusiasm.
“She is a lovely young woman,” my aunt said.
“She seemed quite lovely,” I said.
“Her parents give a lovely spring party every year,” my aunt said.
Rebecca leaned closer to me and said, “We are all wondering, Anna is wondering, I am wondering, if you would come as her guest to this event.”
Black Jack moved in and out of the room, carrying trays, fetching trays, while Precious Sally remained in the doorway, nodding her sage head. Liza, who sometimes helped with the preparation of meals, was nowhere to be seen. My growing obsession with her seemed suddenly vile and ignorant and unjust. Rebecca’s idea was quite tempting. This slavery question has been vexing me so. My sentiments have me spinning around and around and around so that I am dizzy with indecision. In how many ways could the world pull a young fellow like me? I supposed that I was soon going to find out.