Mandingo-The Fight For Freedom....A Storytellah Production... It sure was a beautiful day, while most of the other niggers was in the field picking cotton, well ,master had me doing something he called calisthenics. Said that I needed to get my wind up. Build up stamina like Bucky. Bucky was the dark brown nag he rode in and out of town on. My name was Jimmy Gordon, I was a nigger born in Mississippi sixteen years ago and sold to the master last year, He traded two women and four pigs for me. I would never forget the day when he rode into Liberty Mississippi on old Bucky. He met with my old master; Master Lamer’s to see exactly what he had to offer. “Those niggers ova’ yonder is all I got, Mr. Chalmers.” Master said pointing to the group I was standing in. “You is looking for a good nigger, right.” “You just take it easy now, you see what I got in back of that old wagon. Don’t you” Mr. Chalmers said pointing to his driver that was behind him. I looked up, even though we were several feet from the two white men, I had a good set of ears and could hear a mile away. Matter of fact I had just heard them damn hounds last night out in the woods, crooning like they was making a record. I knew that somewhere today someone’s feet was hanging from a tree limb for trying to make it north. Mr. Chalmers looked young for a slave owner, I wondered if he was just a buyer or if he actually had his own plantation of nigger workers like most white men in the south had. But on the wagon following him sat four fat pigs, nice and clean ready to be cut. Behind the wagon were two women with rope tied around their waist. “I see what you got there.” Master said rubbing his chin. I knew the pigs would bring him some nice money. But I seen the way he was looking at them there girls too. It was natural for the white man to do whatever he wanted whenever he wanted. They were the Gods of the world, with no supporting angels. “Looks to me you got yourself something to work with Chalmers, I know why you want one of my niggers too, I ain’t dumb. I have you know my brother is a professor.” “Mr. Lamer, I’m not here to question the validity of you or your brothers education level by all means. Word in Alabama is you got a nigger here by the name Gordon, Jimmy Gordon, now is that right?” I seen master raise his head, he spit that messy brown chew like a grasshopper down by his boot and nodded at me. This man had said my name, like he had come all the way to Liberty for me. “That skinny pigeon nigger is Gordon.” Chalmers said. I heard master laughing before he responded. “Yep, you got it, now what you come for a real nigger that can win some fights or you want that nigger Gordon. Doesn’t matter me one bit, my price don’t change when it comes to the selling of my niggers.” The master named Chalmers finally got down off his horse, his black suit and white shirt was pressed neatly like it was brand new. He took a cigarette from his inside pocket and lit it with a match. The whole state of Mississippi seemed like it had gone silent. I couldn’t hear anything but the bugs buzzing for about five minutes. Chalmers smoked and blew rings toward the sky looking like he was having second thoughts about buying me. Which none of that made me any bit of difference. Finally Master Lamer’s broke the silence shaking Chalmers out of the revere he was in. “I aint’s got all cotton picking day Chalmers, do we got a deal or what?” Master Lamers adjusted his hat again to block the heat from the sun. Sweat was beading like clear warts on his forehead as he hoped that Master Chalmers wanted me. Four pigs and two women for little old me was going to be the highlight of his slave-raising career as long as Chalmers went for it. “Merrill, let them there pigs of that damn wagon and untie the women, looks like we got ourselves a deal in old Liberty.” “Well at least allow me to feed you and Mr. Merrill, I got some stew on in kitchen and would love if you two join me while I get the niggers papers together.” Master Lamer’s said feeling like he’d just struck gold. Master called me over to where they were standing and shaking hands. “Jimmy, get your black ass over here boy, let this man look at the fine purchase he just made now, come on, get on over here.” He demanded. The Lamers plantation wasn’t that bad of a place. Only people who got lashes were the one’s who tried to make a run for it at night and escape. The ones who thought that they could find some path in the woods that would lead them to freedom. I never ran for that path because first off I didn’t believe in myths. I didn’t believe that there was no such path that led no Blackman to a place where he could be free. So my body even though I was frail was untainted with wound marks like some of the others. I slowly sauntered over to where they were posted, now wondering my fate of untainted especially in the hands of a new white man. On Lamers yard we did very little work. He was more into raising slaves like cattle for sale than working us to our graves. I didn’t know anything about this Master Chalmers. Would I be in the fields in Alabama picking cotton, or hammering rail ties for miles long, maybe chopping trees to make wood for white people to build fancy homes? “Yes Master.” I said as I approached standing there barefoot, bare chest and with pants on that didn’t come to my ankles. I could feel Master Chalmers eyes probing my body like he expected me to have some feminine parts attached to me. I or no other nigger didn’t dare to look at a white man like we had questions to what they were staring at. You would be instantly lashed or shot for staring. “Well Jimmy I’m sorry to say son, but looks like this here man just paid for you nigger. Now when you get to Alabama you be’s a good nigger for your new master, don’t make me look bad. You here me boy.” “Yes sir, I here you.” “Now you run along to the back corridor and clean up, have Mae get you a shirt and something for your feet boy, it’s a long walk.” “Yes master.” I replied doing exactly as I was told. I heard master Lamers tell the rest of the men to get back to work. I headed straight back to the barn where we lived. It was to separate shacks that served as slave corridors, one for the men and one for the women. The children stay in the barn with the women, didn’t matter if it was boy all girl. You didn’t stay with men if you was boy until you where believed to be thirteen. Nobody never knew what day that actually was so they went by your voice. Once your voice changed pitches they figured that you was ready to be a man.
Posted on: Sun, 09 Mar 2014 15:53:26 +0000
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