Oldest Living Confederate Widow Tells All (115 page)

Sky-eyes eased out vats of black tarry paint. Brushed this mess at chain sores on our wrists, ankles, necks, at fever blisters on you lip. Paint hid the damage but it sure did hurt way worse to have you open cuts so smothered. “Medcine,” Reba speak from her pallet on the floor. “Damn crude, but medcine.”

A heavyset Bleach what’d greeted us now counted heads. Made sure he didn’t get tricked out of even one rich-blooded royal. He helped squire us into the palm-high teeth-white room. Hall be so huge you didn’t know how it could hold itself up. Us—all fed, looking sleeked with coconut grease, our hurts sealed under paint too dark to match us but still covering wounds—we now got nudged up onto a platform. (Only somebody strong as Reba could keep from calling out, after foresaying so much, “I done
told
you so!”) The stage it sunk inside a pit, seats curled inside a fancy funnel boring down on us. All high up around, many empty chairs was lined—some paradise council hall.

We known now, sure. We here to offer solid teachings to these watered ones.

Each of us got busy—unchained, finally fed—memory-mapping our first real talk. Reba’d warned, be patient how we starts off telling. Take it slow. They dim.

Whitenesses what’d sailed with us now got paid many yellow tear-shaped bits of metal. They rush off, doing jigs. The tree-legged one was leading our chained monkey, he done a joyful spin on he wood foot. Ape’s leash wound partway round it, little creature shrieking. Off went our tall yellowhead with the chained spare heart. We watch sailors march away from us, arms ropey round each other. Our sailors didn’t even look back to thank us proper or say bye. Odd, but we already almost missed them. See, Lady, we had knowed them ones the longest. We all loves what we knows because we knows it.

Greeters start to opening our mouths, fingertipping all round. We turn towards where Reba lay smiling yet, shaking her grizzledy head Yes, yes. We seen how Aunt’s black skin had growed right ashy, bad sign in somebody she old. Though it hot as anything here, Aunt’d pulled the stretcher’s sour blankets all up round her, shaking bad. We heard how much it cost her, trying and explain, “They studying how teeths should be. Maybe … gone copy ours for ones on they idols. They a bit too eager in learning. Try and act patient with them, friends.” After hearing Reba’s news of what this mean, why even the King open he mouth full wide, acting proud to show off royal molars to these glum-faced fuzz-cheeked grubs. The plump-set boss one kept tracing down messages bout us in long snaking lines.

I clung on to my mother—watching everything. One un-dark, he eased my beautiful Queen and me, plus four my younger aunts, into a side room. He pull a curtain behind us. Six young bleachnesses stand waiting there, grinning, they white hats tilted fancy to one side. They have on fine pale suits what make their faces glow a riper pink. One these Bleach bucks just rubbing hands together, that pleased to finally spy he race’s new Queen. Next, us got led to the mens, mens begins touching our sassy princess all over she. Her go stiff as dead, unsassy, lost to who she been. Mens even starts handling my mother’s breasts. Milk got on the fingers of one bleachness. He joke and shown this milk to others, seem to dare he friends to lick it off. Momma, a-scared, call through the curtain loud at Reba. Tell Auntie that, uh-oh, the young whitish ones seem to be prodding, uh-oh, sad to say, opening the Queen’s nearest and most, uh-oh, herself-type body places. One the Queen’s new pupils now be down on he knees and peeking up and under, oh such cold-fingered studying. It hurt the person.

“They just trying and learn what real womens should be. Behaves strong, beautiful child, forgives a bit more. I know it hard, but remember—being so famous a beauty do have its duties to it. You the first queen them unsouls done ever met. You a model, royal one, so be it, full.” Then Momma just suck in air, brace both legs. But all while chewing she lower lip, fighting not to cry out none. I felt her straining to act worthy of all tributes what these many chilly hands keep paying her and paying her.

When we got finished being felt of, us were led back out to stand again together, which been nicer. Then we seen a mess of other black people lockstep in at the great room’s back. New tribe yet chained. They ain’t been lucky enough to have a vision-filled Auntie knowing how to read she aches and make—of old days’ hurts—a new world be. These folks never was told
why
they got brought unto this teaching temple. Oh, the wails they making, a sound to wash you eyes with tears you ain’t expected. Poor things was being sick and some kept tearing at they faces with fingernails and two boy bleachnesses with terrible whips was keeping them in strict strict line.

Reba now stare hard towards them, eyes narrowing. She shade she face with one hand, trying and make out the shapes of poor folks shivering back there. The pawed-over sassy young princess (yet looking struck half dead)
bend down, whisper bout what going on. Weak as Auntie’d got, you felt her mind flat buzzing to fit
this
part in. Right off, Reba tell us, “That tribe, I believes, be our court substitutes. I afraid that they somewhat inferior to us, manners-wise. Wouldn’t nobody consider
them
a royal clan, now would they? Such screeching. Ain’t seemly.—But the Land of White Unfilledness done brought these ones over, courteous-like, so, on days when
us
be feeling somewhat tired, these ones’ll go on out. They gone meet the weak-minded pale questioners
for
us. Is probly who these ones be.”

Our substitutes, seeing us, growed quietened. And right off. Them stared so. Our heads lifted, we kept lined up here, sleek and willing—we already seem this pale, chain-loving Lost Tribe’s very favorites. We models. And just the sight of our true royalty worked on black others quick as any lixir. Our substitutes stood straighter and more calm. They now known that
everybody
on the shore of this dry unjungled Nother-world won’t a body-shamed blankness. Soon as they got soothed by seeing us, we felt again—our tribe’s potent answering magic be steadily at work. No stopping its ruddering strength on all what meets it.

Then a loud loud bell chimed. And into this huge room stacked high round a stage where we waits, hundreds of whitenesses swarms, jawing mong theyselves. It such humid weather, and each was dressed in pale cloth sacking bandaged round he arms and legs and chests. Each had one fine-colored cloth piece knot—gathered at he throat. Another white bit flop and billow out a patch stitched to he tunic’s left-side front. Equipment, but—what for?

Entering our court, Blanks took off they hats, a superstition we appreciated, pure respect. Following them, scampering black children dressed in cloth as white as any whitenesses’. Some these young ones was wearing turbans, single earbobs, such fine trappings. They each carrying a big peacock-feather fan for keeping flies and heat from ever settling onto our subject bleachnesses running towards seats, that eager to hear first lessons bout living a more natural human life.

(In so short a time, our own tribe had already learnt to look right into the faces of these white ghost totems and not to throw up. Now here sat two hundred or more of them and nobody mong my relatives got sick even onct. Hard to believe what-all a royal group
can
complish when it put its mind to something, ain’t it, though, Mrs. Mine Own Owner?)

Stout deep-voiced Bleach man stroll up behind a box. He hold papers covered with snake lines bout who-all royalty we be. He hit the box’s top with a fancy wood hammer. Everybody hush down. Then, one at a time, us got pulled forward. Headman hold up he fingers, him lift our strong arms, him point to a good face or to one particular fat high-riding breast, its nipple wide across yet prim as any of you teacups.

“Childrens, the worship have begun,” Reba grinning so from under blankets, face hid down underneath, mouse gray while nodding only Yes. Water-bodies soon admire all handsome folks in our Kingly group. Blanks
out on benches, real young to real old, be every one a male. They would start to maybe pull on one ear or lift a eyebrow. (Almost like they was admiring us but shamed to let they
brothers
know.) When the hammer man seen some such sly high sign (he looking round right hard), him call out one word loud, make a quacky happy rattle song, strike one serious blow to wood.

Course, us stare towards Reba, needing help. Two more young princesses have stoop down to hold Miss Auntie’s hands and help her know things Reba eyes can’t find. She quits coughing long enough to try and give a mild grin. “I believes they making up a name for every last one of us. Yeah. Bleach trying and guess … our true titles, home ranks, and what-all we each gone teach the best. Maybe you men gone talk bout fishing traps and … like that. This stubby one keep helping them … decide … which name suit us best, see? True respeck, first questions, Children of the Blood Royal, just about to start. Prepare you basic lessons. But Reba gone be straight with you, from the look of this here group, you’d best keep first talks full … of examples. I talking
simple.”
Then her lapsen, worn, back into the waiting hands of worried princesses.

Hammer rapper chant a loud notched row of names. He yodeling so. It the best Bleach music us done heard, full of passion bout something. It excites all what’s listening. First hint: maybe they
is
a winion of Drum locked in these mealy selfs somewhere. Hammer man holds a hand over the head of my relatives, one by one by one. He singing bout them. Praise.

Blanks lead forward my shy momma the Queen, me hanging on to her for dear life, me, three, small for my age. I taking everything in, scared so bad. Out among the seats high above us, broad rocking peacock fans looked to me most like our home palms, waving bowing. I stare round for anything what’s like I knowed before. Plump head fellow, making a big face towards he crowd, smiles approving noises bout my momma’s looks and station. Next, the man took slow hold of her left breast. He cause a drop to pearl out its end, then—squeezing hard—he shoot one thread of holy royal lady milk angling down towards the school’s front row. Bleachnesses sure did move they shoes out the way right quick. Laughing, all them pink sponge faces split wide open. Out roll hard hard sound. “Hard, hard, hard,” they say. Many fought to guess my momma’s name.

Then we was being prodded off in smallish side groups. Whatever pale one chose our names the best, seem like he got to take us off with him. Whichever name got sing-sayed last and loudest and three times—that become our winning title. (Just by the repeated sound of it, so scared that everything done stuck, I remembered my momma the Queen’s new one. Only later did white language make a shelf for me to put that name up on. Our Most Royal River Village Queen’s new bleachland title be: “Four Hundred.”)

The Blank what’d thought this up, what’d rubbed both hands together so, he seemed right frisky bout naming Momma, me, and three my kin. (He
titled one the semi-princes, plus our two older cousins.) This gent
I
describing be nobody but you own late scholar-bossman-husband, Mistress. Does you reconize the hand-rubbing, or was that saved only for he special “nap” chamber out yonder in the quarter? All right,
do
keep quiet, then. I gone live.

One fan-carrying black child under a glittery turban hurry over, smiling clucking at us. He could talk the Bleaches’ own bird language, be just chattering away in it, giggling, shaking his head bout us. Acted like we hopeless ugly things and not the royal family long waited for, sought after halfway round this mud-wad earth. Some my older kinfolk yet stand out front—bare to all them pinch-blue eyes—still being named. Maybe to honor our old ones, the head bleachness had saved them back for last.

Momma and me was already being hurried off by that young yellowhead what’d felt hardest of her behind the curtain. We turn back and tries studying what gone happen to the last of us.

We seed the hammer man posing over Reba now. He set he shoe tip gainst her ribs to prove Reba should stand and let the namers look her over good. Then the chief Blank changed, nudged her somewhat easier (easy as any shoe toe
can
nudge one old naked lady’s onstage ribs), seem like of a sudden he recollected being the son of some old Bleach-bag root-pale mother somewheres. Reba just shrug, proving she feel too poorly for moving very far.

Auntie rested there, panting under blankets, but grinning round at every subject in this huge white room. With her body shaking so, Aunt’s teeth would’ve been chattering if all three hadn’t of been lowers. The most Reba could do was ease onto elbows and blink out at all them pale admirers with so much yet to learn. Not seeing too good, she still seemed right interested in the
feel
of being surrounded with this much blankness. Didn’t scare Miss Aunt—how much space so much white makes. All here for her filling, for our filling up. Reba woman yet believed, ma’am, that Ignorance were just the lack of smarts. ‘Tain’t so. Us soon found out. Ignorance be a whole force unto itself. Trust you Castalia in this.

Reba grin out them mist men’s way, her narrow slotted face opened to its widest beaming.

“I plans and go slow at first,” her cried, crackly yet loud as she could. “Starting off, might seem real hard. But then, one day, just like things done dawned on Reba here, you gone see what-all we come to teach … Tribe’s lessons bout to break over you heads like so many rare red birds’ eggs full of light. You going to say, ‘So, it
that!’
Then you sure will laugh. Even took your old Reba here a day or six to see
you
reasons for toting us on over here. Did. Oh, I slow sometimes. I winded just now … It hard but, boys? it possible. And, listen, even fore I gets rolling on your first lesson, I wants to let you know (here, has to catch my breath a second) yeah … let you know: where I been? Yeah, you was right. You already took the first sure step towards a wiseness sufficient—saying what you
needs
to understand.
Now …” Round in here, somebody starts to clapping, grumblish. Aunt took this as encouragement. Naming went right on, plump man going bout he chores, axting Blanks to title others. He keep casting side looks at the old one, yet unnamed, jammering away her loudest. “Maybe you Blank boys been wondering why you all been axted here. Well, that cause you Reba wants to tell: We feels for you. Pities you. And you sure is lucky. Why? Cause, well, don’t like to brag none, but you done found The Tribe What Answers.