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.“Cep’n when you comes to see us.”A couple of the middle-sized boys had stopped pulling their crosscut saw when Forrest arrived at the shed, but now, when he glanced at them, they went back to it.The one with the best feel for the work was coming twelve probably; he had a pair of big soft ears, shaped like handles of a jug.Forrest ran his over the board Benjamin had been planing.Smooth grain and more than two hands wide.“Doen a fine job with this lumber,” he said.“Mmm-hmm.”“Might need to put this job off a while though,” Forrest said.“Why don’t you walk over to the field with me a minute.”Ben’s eye’s flicked over him, quick a snake’s tongue, then went out to the horizon.“No, I ain’t senden ye to chop no cotton,” Forrest said.“Not even studyen that.Hit’s a piece of news and the men need to hear it, that’s all.”He turned and stepped out from under the shed roof.Ben pulled on a shirt and followed him along the curving, rutted path toward the first cotton field.They were about halfway to the rise that concealed the field hands when Forrest heard the saw teeth stop pulling through the wood.He glanced over his shoulder and saw the two half-grown boys trailing after them at what they must consider a safe distance.Well, let’m come on then.“What news,” Ben said.Forrest tried to catch his eye.“What d’ye hear?”“Trouble aplenty,” Ben said after a pause.“Even white folks can get some now.”He looked at Ben hard; Ben was facing him head-on but somehow their eyes still just didn’t meet.By damn that was a sassy remark … but it was true too, and Forrest thought he’d as well let it go.No telling what kind of wild tales might be going round the quarters and if he didn’t want a smart answer he’d have done better not to have asked.“Let’s git on,” he said shortly, pulling down his hat brim.Ben followed him to the top of the rise.Thirty-some slaves were thinning cotton, fanned out over the long black furrows.The plants had come a good four inches high.Forrest turned left and walked along the outside of the split rail fence to a point where he could see down to the pocket by the tree line and the creek, where another handful of slaves was working.He cupped his hands and hallooed to them, and while he waited for them to come he stooped and broke a clod of the black earth with his fingers.“Mmm-hmm,” Ben said again, at his back.A blue-veined earthworm slipped over his thumb and burrowed back in the loosened dirt.Rich land it was.He had bought most of it three years ago.He’d take a thousand bales off it this year, if not for the war.In spite of the war, if they all pulled together.Slaves had straightened from the work and were shading their eyes to look at him.But they seemed uncertain if they should come.The day in the field had barely got started.Forrest turned, looked over his shoulder.A big iron bell stood on a post left of another gateway Ben had raised—this one with a good stout gate in it.He flipped up his shirttail and drew a pistol.Bracing right hand over left wrist, he took aim quickly and pressed the trigger.When the bell sounded the slaves dropped their tools and came running.Forrest put his hands on his hips and stretched out his spine till two vertebrae popped.He had an odd premonition that a day might come when he would regret the waste of that frivolous shot.The sound of the bell was bringing women and children out of the quarters too, and Forrest hadn’t really counted on that.But grown gals not nursing babies were in the field anyway, and the rest were coming quick, and would get there soon.When they’d all gathered round he took off his hat.“Hit’s a war comen shore enough,” he announced.“I know y’all bound to been hearen that talk.Well now I mean to tell ye the truth on it.The Yankees are fixen to come down from the North.They aim to kill all they can and take what we got.”He looked from one black face to another.Some looked worried, others unreadable.Men’s eyes shaded by fraying straw brims.Women’s heads bound in plain or checked cloth.He told off their names under his breath, his lips just barely moving.But for a couple, he could call their names true.They all seemed to sway from the ground, like rushes.“The war’s agin slavery, that’s what they claim.If the Yankees whup it, they’ll set ye all free.That’s right.You heard me right.They ain’t studied on what’s to be done with ye after that but they aim to set the lot of y’all free.”At that there was a swell among the slaves and they turned to one another and murmured.He let that happen for close on a minute, then raised up his palm and they fell still.“I’ve jined up already to fight for the South,” he told them.“Y’all most of ye’ve known me fer quite some time.Have ye ever seen me to take a whuppen?”Nawsuh, we ain’t.Don’t spec we will.“Well then.If the South whups it, we’ll still have slavery in this country.And that’s the side I’m fighten fer.I’ll tell ye that straight out and no doubt about it.I don’t mean to have nobody waltz in from somewhar’s else and start in a-tellen me what to do and not do—”Forrest could feel the blood beating hard in his temples now.He stopped a minute, fanned himself with the hat.“Now here’s what I come down to say to ye [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]