Sweetsmoke by David Fuller Page A

would be eyed
suspiciously.
        Thought
you ought to know, Quashee, your time in the fields can go easier, said Big
Gus.
        It's
not so bad, said Quashee softly.
        I got
me a fine relationship with the white folk here, he said.
        I
imagine you do, said Quashee.
        And I
don't take serious all that talk 'bout bad luck, said Big Gus.
        Cassius
saw Quashee's head flinch sideways at the words "bad luck."
        Big
Gus moved to her, taking her hands in his, turning them over to expose her
palms. Neither Fawn nor Polly moved, watching the moment play out.
        These
hands, said Big Gus, ain't used to field work. These be inside hands. See how
they split and blister. I can help these pretty little hands return to the big
house where they belong.
        They
just gettin used to new ways, said Quashee. Always that way in the beginning.
        Big
Gus smiled at her, holding her hands for a beat too long, and Cassius shared
his confusion. Was she playing the fool, or did she truly not understand what
was being offered? If she did understand, was she being coy or was she not
interested? Big Gus could offer good things to a pliant female, and he enjoyed
it when women competed to satisfy him. What would cause this new girl to
hesitate?
        Cassius
saw Big Gus for what he was, a fickle boy in a man's body empowered by white
people who enjoyed his groveling flattery. If Quashee saw through Big Gus, then
she was wise indeed. Maybe even wise enough to play the fool.
        Quashee
saw Cassius and a brief smile crossed her face. Cassius could not pretend he
had not seen it, so he nodded. Big Gus saw her smile and turned his head, thus
trapping Cassius.
        Hello
Gus, said Cassius.
        What
you lookin at? said Big Gus.
        Cassius
did not care to start things with Big Gus. Did the new girl imagine that Cassius
might protect her? Or was she simply redirecting Gus's attention away from her?
Wise, perhaps, but Cassius wanted no part of it. If Gus had a fresh female
target, so be it. Cassius's life was altogether simpler when he avoided
friction with him.
        I was
just thinking about your poem, said Cassius easily.
        You
were thinkin 'bout my poem? said Big Gus.
        Heard
it when I got to my door. You got that voice, Gus. Might sound good if you sing
it.
        You
sayin I should sing it? said Big Gus. Big Gus was altogether baffled by
Cassius's meaning.
        Some
poems sound better sung, said Cassius.
        What
that mean? What you sayin, Cassius?
        Cassius
was clever enough to trust silence, which put Big Gus in deeper torment. On one
hand, it resembled flattery, but Gus knew Cassius and, what was worse,
suspected Cassius of mocking him.
        You
think you're better 'n me, Cassius?
        Gus,
I only know I could never make up such a poem. But that's all I got to say
'cause I am dog tired, so I'll only say one last thing which is good night.
        Cassius
walked back to his cabin door. He wondered why he had done it, making himself a
target so the new girl Quashee could get away.
        Big
Gus looked back and found only Fawn and Polly. He looked over their heads as
they attempted to engage him.
        That
was nice of him, said Fawn.
        Maybe
it was, said Big Gus.
        But
go on with your poem, said Fawn. I'd be lovin to hear it again.
        Don't
remember it no more, said Big Gus as he saw Mr. Nettle coming down the lane, performing
his evening check early. Big Gus rushed now, to walk with Mr. Nettle, who
smiled when he saw Gus coming.
        Cassius
opened his door and saw Savilla's husband Abram sitting inside waiting on the
small stool by the cold hearth. Cassius had not kept a fire in the hearth since
the rains in March and April. Abram was admiring the carved toy soldiers
Cassius had been whittling for Weyman. He set them down in military formation.
        Little
bit like you go out your way to get his goat,