Mark Twain Collection - Bedtime Stories for Middle School Students [III]

Author: (American) Mark Twain
Publisher:
Publish Date: 2006-06-01
Features: A True Story – As I heard it told verbatim one summer evening. We were sitting on the porch of a farmhouse at the top of a small hill, Rachel Aunt very respectfully sitting on one step below ours—because she was our maid and a Black woman. She was tall and sturdy, though in her sixties, her eyesight was not bad, and she was full of energy. She was a cheerful, carefree person. Her laughter was as natural as a bird's. At that moment, she became the focal point of the teasing, which often started after dark. That is to say, everyone mercilessly teased her, and she enjoyed it too, bursting into laughter, then sitting there with her hands covering her face, laughing so hard she could barely breathe, trembling all over. Just then, I suddenly had an idea. I said to her, "Rachel Aunt, you've lived sixty years, yet you've never had any worries?" Her trembling body suddenly stopped. She paused for a moment without answering, then turned her head and said to me, "Mr. Carter, do you really think that?" Hearing this, I was quite surprised and my attitude and words became more serious. So I said, "That's right, I thought—my meaning is—I'm not sure, you could never have any worries. I've never seen you sigh, and your eyes have always been smiling." At that moment, her face was directly facing me, and it was evident that her expression was particularly serious. "Have I ever had worries? Mr. Carter, let me tell you, you go think about it. I was born among slaves, and I know what it's like to be a slave, because I myself was a slave. To be honest, my master—my master—he was very kind to me, just like you are to your own family. We had children together—seven of them—and we loved them just as much as you love your children. Their skin was black, but no matter how black heaven made them, their mother still cherished them and couldn't bear to let them go. And so, it is impossible to trade the whole world for them."
"Oh, Mr. Carter, I grew up in old Virginia, but my mother grew up in Maryland. Good heavens! If anyone provoked her, she was terrible! When she got angry, she always said the same thing. She stood straight, clenched her fists, and crossed them at her hips, saying, 'You'll see, I wasn't born in a to be messed with by you waste! I'm the little chick of Old Blue Hen, understand!' You know, people from Maryland call themselves that, and they are very proud of it. I will never forget it, because she often said it. One day, my little Henry broke his wrist, and his head was also knocked open, right on the forehead. At that moment, the white men didn't run over to take care of him, and she got angry. When they argued back, she jumped up and said, 'Hey, listen,' she said, 'I'll show you these niggers that I wasn't born in a to be messed with by you waste! I'm the little chick of Old Blue Hen, understand!' She cleaned up the kitchen and wrapped the children's wounds herself. If someone provoked me, I would also curse them with those same words."
Later, my old master said his family had gone bankrupt, so he had to sell all the Black slaves. I heard that he was going to ship us all to Richmond for auction. Oh, God, I knew what was coming!" At that moment, Rachel Aunt grew more animated and slowly stood up. She seemed exceptionally tall in front of us, and her shadow against the starlight was particularly distinct. "They put chains on us and put us on a platform like this one—about twenty feet high—people gathered around below to watch us, and there were so many of them, piles of people. They went up to the platform and examined us, twisted our arms, and made us walk around. Then they said, 'This one is too old,' or 'This one has a crippled leg,' or 'This one isn't of much use.' In the end, they bought my old man and took him away. They came back to buy my children and took them away too, and I started crying; the man said, 'Don't cry,' and slapped me in the face with his hand. Later, they sold them all, and only my little Henry was left. I pulled him into my arms as hard as I could, and I stood up and said, 'You can't take him away.' I also said, 'Whoever touches him, I'll kill them!' But my little Henry whispered to me, 'I'll run away, go to work, and buy my freedom for you.'"
"Oh, God, bless my child, he was always so loyal! But they still dragged him away—just wouldn't let go, and I held onto their clothes so tightly that I ripped many places, and I hit their heads with the iron chain they had on me. They hit me too, but I didn't care."
That way, my old man left, and all my children too—seven of them were bought away. I haven't seen six of them since, and it's been twenty-two years since the last Easter. The man who bought me was from New Berlin, and he took me there. Year after year passed, and then the war broke out. My master was a colonel in the Southern army, and I worked for him, cooking his meals. After the Northern army captured the town, they all ran away, leaving me alone there with other Black people in that big house. The Northern army's general moved in, and he asked me, "Would you like to cook for us?" 'Of course,' I said, 'I do that for a living.'"
You know, they weren't small officials; they were very high-ranking officials, and they told the soldiers what to do, and they did it! The general made me the head of the kitchen. He also said, 'If anyone gives you trouble, just tell them to get lost, don't be afraid,' he said, 'You're with friends now.'"
"Alright, I thought to myself, if my little Henry gets a chance to escape, he'll definitely go to the North. One day, I went to where the high-ranking officials stayed, in the big living room, and I bowed to greet them, then stood up and started talking about my little Henry. They listened to my sad story as if I were white! Later, I said, 'I came to you because if he escapes and goes to the North, to your place, maybe you've seen him. You have to tell me, so I can find him back. He's very small, and he has a scar on his left wrist and a scar on his forehead.' When I said this, they looked very sad, and the general asked, 'How long has it been since you last saw him?' I said, 'Thirteen years.' The general said, 'He's not that small now—he's already grown up!'
"I had never thought of that before! I always thought he was still very young and never thought he would grow up. But now I understand, none of the officers had seen him, so they couldn't help me either. But I really don't know if my little Henry really went to the North. Many years later, he became a barber and started working for himself. Later, when the war broke out, he said, 'I won't be a barber anymore, I'll go find my mother, unless she's dead.' He sold his things and went to the recruiting office and found himself a job serving an officer. He fought in the war, went to many places, and looked for his mother's whereabouts. Really, that's how it was. He was serving one officer now and another officer then, covering all the places in the South, but you see, I didn't know anything, how could I know?"
"Well, one night, we had a soldier's dance here—the soldiers here often had dances and had a good time. They had it in my kitchen, quite often, because my place was big. Listen, I didn't like them doing that; my place was only for the high-ranking officials, those little soldiers were messing around in my kitchen, and it really bothered me. But I had to stand aside and just clean up the things myself, and that's what I did. Sometimes, if they annoyed me, I would make them clean up the kitchen for me, and that's what I did—you know!"
"Right, one night—Friday night—there suddenly came a whole row of soldiers, the Black guards who were guarding the house—the house was the headquarters, you know—I was so excited, like a madman, I couldn't describe how happy I was! I walked around, my heart was pounding, I just couldn't wait for them to dance with me. They danced around and around, they were really having fun! And I, too, got more and more excited! Just then, soon after, a handsome Black boy and a yellow-haired girl came dancing. They spun around and around, dizzying to look at. When they spun past me, they lifted one leg up, then the other, staring at my red headscarf and laughing. They were teasing me. I lost my temper and said, 'You bastard, get out—damn kid!' The boy's face changed instantly, but after a moment, he started laughing again, just like before. Well, at that moment, some Black musicians came, the band, and they always had an air of arrogance. That night, just like that, I got angry, but they laughed, and it made me angrier. The other Black people laughed too, and I couldn't hold it in anymore—I was really furious! My eyes were about to burst into flames! I was gasping for breath, and just like now, I almost touched the ceiling—I clenched my fists, crossed my arms, and said, 'Hey! I'll show you these niggers that I wasn't born in a to be messed with by you waste! I'm the little chick of Old Blue Hen, understand!' At that moment, I saw the boy stop, his eyes fixed on me, as if he was looking at the ceiling, forgetting something, not remembering it. Haha, I rushed over to them—this posture was almost the same as the general's—I chased them in front of me, and they ran outside. When the boy was leaving, I heard him say to another Black man, 'Jim, you go first, please tell the captain I'll be back in the barracks around eight in the morning. I have something on my mind, I can't sleep tonight. You go first, I'll be here for a while alone.'"
"It was about one in the night then. Well, around seven in the morning, I got up and started cooking breakfast for the officers. I bent down in front of the stove—just like this, your feet are the stove—I opened the stove door with my right hand—just like this, and then closed it, just like pushing your foot—my hands were holding a plate of hot bread, and just as I was about to raise my head, I saw a Black face below me, his eyes looking up at mine, just like I'm looking at your face from below now. I stood there, motionless, and looked at it over and over again, and my plate started to wobble. At that moment, I knew everything! The plate fell to the ground, and I grabbed the boy's left hand and pulled up his sleeve—just like this, the same as pushing your sleeve—then I lifted my head and combed his hair up, just like this. Haha, I said, 'If you're not my Henry, you wouldn't have this scar on your wrist or this scar on your forehead. Thank God, I've found my family again!'"
"There's nothing else, Mr. Carter, really—I've never had any worries; but I've also had no happy moments."