Yellow Wife(25)

“Full Negro called Arthur. He comes from the Madagascar tribe. A skilled blacksmith and carpenter. He can also work the fields. Perfect health.” As the presenter spoke, a potential buyer stuck his hand in Arthur’s mouth. Another pinched his limbs and asked him to bend over. I did not understand if the men were looking for something specific, or just wanted to humiliate him further. As if being under the foot of their dominance did not demean him enough.

“Drop you pants. Turn around and squat.”

When Arthur turned, I could see the anguish in his eyes, but he did his best to keep his face pleasant.

“There is no lameness or weakness. He had been examined by one of our best doctors. His price starts at one hundred and fifty dollars.”

The bidding for Arthur ended up being a battle between two men. Arthur’s eyes dashed between them, probably praying under his breath that he would leave with the kinder master. In the end, he fetched seven hundred and fifty dollars.

Next up, Matilda. She whispered to me that she had hoped to stay with her husband, who was in the group behind ours.

“Disrobe.” Matilda’s upper lip trembled but she gave no resistance. She slid her arms out of her burlap sack dress and let it fall to her knees. She wore nothing underneath. Her hands flew to her full breasts to hide the milk that leaked. I turned my head, ashamed by the scene.

“Face back and squat.”

When Matilda obeyed, a trickle of blood ran down her thigh.

“I would like to see her up close,” a large man called from the back.

“Very well. Step down and follow the gentleman.”

Matilda stepped off the platform with her dress still in her hand. She caught my eye before following the man into the side room. My heart sank. She had just lost a baby, reconnected with her husband, and was now being taken advantage of by a stranger, for no other reason than that it was his right, and she had none.

“Next!” the ruddy-cheeked man called to me.

My dress got snagged on my shoe and I almost tripped up the steps to the top of the block. I wished for something to hold onto. Somewhere to rest my hands.

The presenter read from his slip. “Mulatto girl from Charles City named Pheby. This here is a house nigra. Excellent at sewing and knows how to work the loom. She is prime age for breeding and would also make a fine fancy girl.” He made his tone deep and melodic, like he was describing a prized possession.

“Disrobe in order that we might see how formed and sound you are.” He looked at me.

I did not budge.

“Disrobe now.”

Wringing my hands, I responded. “I will not.”

The room gasped and murmured while the presenter’s cheeks deepened even darker. He looked like a lobster ready to claw my eyes out.

“Disrobe, wench, or we will have you struck with one hundred lashes!”

Something shifted inside of me. I had never been whipped in my life, but I had been snatched from my home, lost my mama and my truest love, traveled on foot in ropes for days, starved, slept in the equivalent of a hog pen with feces up to my ankles. Nothing else scared me. I would not take off my dress in front of these men. I would not follow Matilda into that back room. I would not sink further into degradation than I already had. They would have to kill me first, and I stood with my feet grounded, preparing to put up a good fight.

“I plead to be exempt from this exposure. My credentials shall suffice.” I stared the presenter square in his pig eyes.

He signaled to two armed men standing by the door. “Remove her dress, now.”

When they came for me, I braced myself to bite, kick, scream, fight to the death, but before they reached me a voice called out.

“Stop.”

The men froze and we all turned toward the speaker. He stood tall, outfitted finely with a tie at his neck. His snuff-colored hair fell long over his ears with the front swept back in a wave. He moved through the crowd like a man who only had to say things once. When he got to the block he reached for my hand. The men in the room huffed.

“Get down.”

His skin felt soft, and besides Master Jacob it was the first time I had touched a white man.

“I will take her.”

“But…” The presenter stumbled. “We have to bid.”

A hush fell over the entire room, and I felt my stomach give way.

“I said she is mine.” The man’s eyes dared the speaker to question him again, and he did not. There was a servant boy at the back of the room, and when the man lifted his hand, the child appeared by our side.

“Take her to Elsie, and see that she is fed well and dressed properly.”

He let my hand go, and I had no choice but to follow the lad. We walked across the courtyard and over to the kitchen house. I knew that this was not the end of things. If anything, it felt like the beginning, and I did not know if I should be relieved by the gentleman’s kindness or frightened to death.





CHAPTER 12




Elsie

On our short walk through the courtyard, I learned that the boy went by the name Tommy. Born at the jail, he had no memory of his mother and had grown up running errands for the master. Tommy was dark and skinny, with slits for eyes, and a head that seemed impossibly large on his little neck. He led me up three short steps to the kitchen house, a wooden A-frame building with smoke puffing from the chimney. When we entered, the heat rose just like in Aunt Hope’s kitchen and something in the air caused me to sneeze.