Sweetsmoke by David Fuller

to
discover, and while most stood empty, one held a book, a dangerous possession
if it were to be found, along with a toy soldier he had carved for his son.
        He ducked
under a wing of candle wicks and arrived at his door. He heard Big Gus's voice
and stepped to the outside corner of the cabin to look out on the cleared area
near the tall trees. Two women hovered around Big Gus, while a third stayed a
few steps outside their circle. Gus was preening, making a pretense of
conjuring up a poem right there on the spot to impress them. Cassius had
witnessed this act before.
        Big
Gus employed his pulpit voice: When I 'member your smile, I come back after
'while, so 'gainst the till I lean, 'cause all about you I dream.
        Cassius
stifled a laugh. Big Gus was forever and always a wretched poet, but was he
truly so deaf to his own lack of rhythm? When no uncomfortable laughter
followed, Cassius wondered if poor poetry, rendered with artificial ardor,
might be catnip to women.
        Why,
that beautiful, Big Gus, said the deeply stupid Fawn. Fawn embodied the black
woman's curse—she was pretty. Hoke had named her as well, her newborn face
reminding him of a young deer. As she developed, her body grew curvaceous to
exaggeration so that men could not look at her without envisioning fornication.
By age thirteen, Fawn's presence was required at the big house when Ellen was
away, and sometimes at the smokehouse when she was not.
        The
second girl with Big Gus was light-skinned, freckled Polly, she of the flat
round face that pinched her small features in toward her nose. But she was as
clever as she was plain. Cassius wondered why she attended to Big Gus but then
knew it was because of her cleverness. She played pilot fish to the
pretty one, safe in the knowledge that Gus would never amuse himself with
someone so homely, allowing her to collect whatever scraps might fall.
        You
like that? said Big Gus, referring to his poem. He did not look at Fawn. He
looked at Quashee, the new girl. He raised his voice a notch and said: Mr.
Nettle has expressed appreciation for my poetry, other patrollers, too. One
said I ought present 'em to Old Master Hoke hisself.
        Quashee
had come with her father Beauregard from Master John-Corey's plantation, and
the two former house servants had been put to work in the fields. In the wake
of Big Gus's plea for flattery,
        Cassius
considered her for the first time. Quashee was unusual in the quarters where
adult field hands were strong and large. Her shoulders were narrow, her breasts
small, her hips and legs lean. Cassius admired her face, although he might have
taken little notice had Big Gus not blazed the trail. Her eyes were wide-set,
an almond shape that swept up and away from her nose. Her forehead was high,
smooth, and her upper lip was particularly defined and appealing. In the right
company she would be high yellow, lighter than most field hands, light enough
to be welcome in the big house. And unless Cassius was mistaken, Quashee was
edging away from Gus, a smile on her face that did not encourage him and may
well have been indulgent. With that pleasant realization, Cassius came by a
measure of respect for her.
        Might
surprise you to know how many whites be appreciatin my poetry. But I want to
know 'bout you, how you like it? said Big Gus.
        Oh I
liked it, Gus, I did, said Fawn.
        No, I
mean you, new girl, said Big Gus and Quashee's head dipped in a manner that
resembled a nod.
        To go
against Big Gus was dangerous, almost as dangerous as it was to get close to
him. Big Gus was the Driver, and as such, his favorites reaped benefits. Those
who crossed him found themselves trapped in unpleasant working conditions while
being eyed suspiciously by the Overseer, as Big Gus regularly whispered in Mr.
Nettle's ear. Wise to stay on Big Gus's good side, but even that could be
treacherous. Once Gus tired of someone, then they too