Chapter 11 #2
When they all returned to bed, Joseph lay awake for a new reason, dreading what he might hear. He begged the Blessed Virgin and Mama’s patroness, Saint Anne, to watch over her.
But his father was insatiable. For the first time in his life, Joseph wished he were as deaf as his mother.
Mama was a living saint. On the stairs the next morning, she smiled at her husband and accepted his arm as if she had not cried out beneath him a few hours before.
Though Hélène knew nothing, she was still fretful. Not only was their cook injured, they no longer had a kitchen. “Are we going to starve, Papa?”
“Of course not, ma poulette.” He crouched down to her level as if he were a caring father. “First thing this morning, I asked Henry to take a message to your Aunt Véronique and Uncle Francois. They’ve already responded that we are welcome to join them for breakfast.”
“But…what about dinner?”
Their father only laughed.
Uncle Francois was a banker, and his house showed it.
Though Aunt Véronique was Mama’s sister, she’d learned only a few basic signs, so Mama could not really participate in the table conversation.
At first, Joseph’s father tried to translate everything that was said, but it was hard for him to keep up, because Aunt and Uncle did not wait.
They behaved as if Mama were not even there.
Finally, when his father tapped her, she just shook her head and kept her eyes on her quail.
Joseph’s cousin Frederic was nearly eighteen.
When he discovered Joseph didn’t know how to ride, Frederic promised to teach him.
“I bet you don’t have the right boots, though.
” They determined that Joseph did not. Their family’s shoemaker didn’t even make riding boots.
“My man can make you some, then,” Frederic offered. “That’s all right, isn’t it, Father?”
“It’s your allowance,” Uncle Francois answered without interest.
Frederic was as good as his word. They set off as soon as they’d finished breakfast. Joseph’s cousin walked with a silver-tipped cane he didn’t need, because he thought it made him look elegant.
Frederic extolled the virtues of his boot-maker, and they were only half watching where they were going.
They nearly collided with another pair on the sidewalk: an elderly colored man and woman who were finely dressed. Their eyes lowered immediately.
Gripping the head of his cane, Frederic glared at them. “Well?” he prompted.
Slowly the colored man guided the woman to the edge of the sidewalk so that Joseph and his cousin could pass.
“And they didn’t even apologize!” Frederic muttered as they continued. “These free coloreds get so full of themselves!”
Joseph liked the way the boot-maker’s shop smelled: sharp and rich from all the leather hanging about them. The boot-maker was a free mulatto who owned slaves. One of them took Joseph’s measurements, and his cousin helped him choose a style.
On the way back, Frederic paused at the corner between St. Philip’s and the Huguenot Church, staring down Queen Street toward the docks. “Father said I could have a new valet for my birthday—the one I have is getting too old. You don’t mind if I take a look at the stock while we’re here, do you?”
Joseph could only shake his head and follow his cousin. He’d never entered this part of the city, but he knew what it contained. He’d only glimpsed slave auctions from a distance while his parents or grandparents hurried him and his sisters along.
Frederic turned onto State Street. “We’re looking for a trader called Hart. Let me know if you see his sign.”
Some of the buildings here resembled warehouses or stables, but most looked like houses, except for the high white-washed walls surrounding their yards.
Negroes stood in lines along the sidewalks, sometimes on little wooden footstools to elevate them above the milling crowd.
They were all clean and neat: the men in suits and many in top hats, the women in calico dresses and tidy head kerchiefs.
Joseph tried not to stare at them—he imagined enough people did that.
Most of the negroes kept their eyes on their shoes, but one woman seemed to be gazing vacantly across the street. Joseph tried to follow her eyes. He saw nothing unusual, only a sign on the facade of one of the buildings that said:
PRICE, ARMSTRONG, but all their shoulders drooped.
They kept to the shade of the buildings and the high outer walls, except for five negroes who clustered in the full sun: a woman and two girls who clung to the fence separating them from a man and a boy.
Even from this distance, Joseph could tell they were a family.
One of the little girls started to climb the fence. A white man appeared and pried her off. The negress took the girl, who was crying now, and the man ordered them all away from the fence. He did not carry a whip, but some sort of paddle.
Joseph lowered his eyes again. “Why do they separate the women from the men?”
His cousin chuckled into his brandy. “You know how these negroes are: animals constantly in heat.”
Hart returned with a tall mulatto who looked about twenty-five years old. “I think we can meet all your needs, Mr. Traver.” The dealer appeared pleased with himself and his merchandise. “And the tall ones are always impressive in livery.”
“They’re also more expensive,” Frederic grumbled, then addressed the mulatto directly. “What’s your name, boy?”
“Fred, sir.”
“Well, that wouldn’t do,” Frederic smirked. “We’d have to call you something else. My current valet is named Peter—that would be easy to remember.”
What would happen to the old Peter? Joseph wondered.
“You don’t have any family you’ll be begging me to buy as well, do you, Peter?”
“No, sir,” the mulatto murmured. “Master wouldn’t sell them.”
“Would you like me to be your new master? Would you like to live in one of the finest houses in Charleston?”
The mulatto glanced up for only a moment. “Yes, sir.” His voice lacked enthusiasm.
“You have experience as a valet, Peter?”
“More than ten years, sir.”
Frederic made the mulatto open his mouth and then touch his toes. “Any problems I should know about? Are you sound?”
“Of course he is!” answered Hart in a bluster.
Frederic shot the trader a look. “I asked Peter.”
Hart cleared his throat and remained silent.
“Let’s have you prove it.” With his cane, Joseph’s cousin motioned to the hall. “Could we have him run up your stairs?”
“Naturally.”
Hart, Frederic, and Joseph walked out to stand beneath the staircase, where they watched the mulatto run up to the third floor and down again.
Finally Joseph’s cousin allowed the mulatto to stop, satisfied that the man’s breathing was normal.
Then Frederic inspected his hands. “Remember, Joseph: whether he’s to work in the fields or in the house, always examine a slave’s hands.
They are the most important parts of him—dexterity is essential. ”
Frederic released the mulatto’s hands and addressed Hart again: “You have somewhere I can see, uh, all of him?”
“Of course, sir.” The trader offered them a small room across the hall.
Wordlessly the mulatto removed his fine clothing, neatly folding each article onto a little table. Joseph kept his eyes on the carpet. He felt his cheeks growing hot with shame, as if he were being forced to expose himself.
“You are an innocent, aren’t you?” Frederic chuckled. “A man has to see what he’s buying.”
Joseph glanced toward the mulatto, who had nothing left to reveal. Checking the slave’s back for scars made sense, but what did the man’s genitals have to do with his being a good valet? His skin there was darker than the rest of him, just like Joseph’s. “Why do you have to see his…?”
“I am not a Molly, if that’s what you’re implying!”
Joseph had no idea what that was, but he’d never heard Frederic so angry.
“These bucks and wenches have to be kept in two separate yards because outside this pen, they’re at each other night and day!
Do you know how many diseases that causes?
I don’t want one who’s spotted and runny!
He’d be ill constantly, and then who would dress me?
” His cousin took a few breaths and calmed.
He gestured to the naked, motionless mulatto. “It doesn’t embarrass them.”
He might as well be made of stone, Joseph thought, till he realized the man was trembling.
“Africans run around naked in Africa,” Frederic assured him. “They’d prefer to stay that way all the time. They’re like animals, Joseph. You don’t turn red when you see a horse penis, do you?”
Actually, those did make Joseph uncomfortable. And how did they know being naked didn’t embarrass the negroes? The problem was, you couldn’t tell when they were blushing.