飘-第137章

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ve　never　seen　a　white　servant　and　I　shouldn’t　care　to　have　one　in　my　house。　And；”　she　could　not　keep　a　slight　note　of　sarcasm　from　her　words；　“I　assure　you　that　darkies　aren’t　cannibals　and　are　quite　trustworthy。”
　“Goodness；　no！　I　wouldn’t　have　one　in　my　house。　The　idea！”
　“I　wouldn’t　trust　them　any　farther　than　I　could　see　them　and　as　for　letting　them　handle　my　babies　。。。”
　Scarlett　thought　of　the　kind；　gnarled　hands　of　Mammy　worn　rough　in　Ellen’s　service　and　hers　and　Wade’s。　What　did　these　strangers　know　of　black　hands；　how　dear　and　comforting　they　could　be；　how　unerringly　they　knew　how　to　soothe；　to　pat；　to　fondle？　She　laughed　shortly。
　“It’s　strange　you　should　feel　that　way　when　it　was　you　all　who　freed　them。”
　“Lor’！　Not　I；　dearie；”　laughed　the　Maine　woman。　“I　never　saw　a　nigger　till　I　came　South　last　month　and　I　don’t　care　if　I　never　see　another。　They　give　me　the　creeps。　I　wouldn’t　trust　one　of　them。　。。。”
　For　some　moments　Scarlett　had　been　conscious　that　Uncle　Peter　was　breathing　hard　and　sitting　up　very　straight　as　he　stared　steadily　at　the　horse’s　ears。　Her　attention　was　called　to　him　more　forcibly　when　the　Maine　woman　broke　off　suddenly　with　a　laugh　and　pointed　him　out　to　her　companions。
　“Look　at　that　old　nigger　swell　up　like　a　toad；”　she　giggled。　“I’ll　bet　he’s　an　old　pet　of　yours；　isn’t　he？　You　Southerners　don’t　know　how　to　treat　niggers。　You　spoil　them　to　death。”
　Peter　sucked　in　his　breath　and　his　wrinkled　brow　showed　deep　furrows　but　he　kept　his　eyes　straight　ahead。　He　had　never　had　the　term　“nigger”　applied　to　him　by　a　white　person　in　all　his　life。　By　other　negroes；　yes。　But　never　by　a　white　person。　And　to　be　called　untrustworthy　and　an　“old　pet；”　he；　Peter；　who　had　been　the　dignified　mainstay　of　the　Hamilton　family　for　years！
　Scarlett　felt；　rather　than　saw；　the　black　chin　begin　to　shake　with　hurt　pride；　and　a　killing　rage　swept　over　her。　She　had　listened　with　calm　contempt　while　these　women　had　underrated　the　Confederate　Army；　blackguarded　Jeff　Davis　and　accused　Southerners　of　murder　and　torture　of　their　slaves。　If　it　were　to　her　advantage　she　would　have　endured　insults　about　her　own　virtue　and　honesty。　But　the　knowledge　that　they　had　hurt　the　faithful　old　darky　with　their　stupid　remarks　fired　her　like　a　match　in　gunpowder。　For　a　moment　she　looked　at　the　big　horse　pistol　in　Peter’s　belt　and　her　hands　itched　for　the　feel　of　it。　They　deserved　killing；　these　insolent；　ignorant；　arrogant　conquerors。　But　she　bit　down　on　her　teeth　until　her　jaw　muscles　stood　out；　reminding　herself　that　the　time　had　not　yet　come　when　she　could　tell　the　Yankees　just　what　she　thought　of　them。　Some　day；　yes。　My　God；　yes！　But　not　yet。
　“Uncle　Peter　is　one　of　our　family；”　she　said；　her　voice　shaking。　“Good　afternoon。　Drive　on；　Peter。”
　Peter　laid　the　whip　on　the　horse　so　suddenly　that　the　startled　animal　jumped　forward　and　as　the　buggy　jounced　off；　Scarlett　heard　the　Maine　woman　say　with　puzzled　accents：　“Her　family？　You　don’t　suppose　she　meant　a　relative？　He’s　exceedingly　black。”
　God　damn　them！　They　ought　to　be　wiped　off　the　face　of　the　earth。　If　ever　I　get　money　enough；　I’ll　spit　in　all　their　faces！　I’ll—
　She　glanced　at　Peter　and　saw　that　a　tear　was　trickling　down　his　nose。　Instantly　a　passion　of　tenderness；　of　grief　for　his　humiliation　swamped　her；　made　her　eyes　sting。　It　was　as　though　someone　had　been　senselessly　brutal　to　a　child。　Those　women　had　hurt　Uncle　Peter—Peter　who　had　been　through　the　Mexican　War　with　old　Colonel　Hamilton；　Peter　who　had　held　his　master　in　his　arms　when　he　died；　who　had　raised　Melly　and　Charles　and　looked　after　the　feckless；　foolish　Pittypat；　“pertecked”　her　when　she　refugeed；　and　“　‘quired”　a　horse　to　bring　her　back　from　Macon　through　a　war…torn　country　after　the　surrender。　And　they　said　they　wouldn’t　trust　niggers！
　“Peter；”　she　said；　her　voice　breaking　as　she　put　her　hand　on　his　thin　arm。　“I’m　ashamed　of　you　for　crying。　What　do　you　care？　They　aren’t　anything　but　damned　Yankees！”
　“Dey　talked　in　front　of　me　lak　Ah　wuz　a　mule　an’　couldn’　unnerstan’　dem—lak　Ah　wuz　a　Affikun　an’　din’　know　whut　dey　wuz　talkin’　‘bout；”　said　Peter；　giving　a　tremendous　sniff。　“An’　dey　call　me　a　nigger　an’　Ah’　ain’　never　been　call　a　nigger　by　no　w’ite　folks；　an’　dey　call　me　a　ole　pet　an’　say　dat　niggers　ain’　ter　be　trus’ed！　Me　not　ter　be　trus’ed！　Why；　w’en　de　ole　Cunnel　wuz　dyin’　he　say　ter　me；　“You；　Peter！　You　look　affer　mah　chillun。　Tek　keer　of　yo’　young　Miss　Pittypat；’　he　say；　‘　‘cause　she　ain’　got　no　mo’　sense　dan　a　hoppergrass。’　An’　Ah　done　tek　keer　of　her　good　all　dese　y’ars—”
　“Nobody　but　the　Angel　Gabriel　could　have　done　better；”　said　Scarlett　soothingly。　“We　just　couldn’t　have　lived　without　you。”
　“Yas’m；　thankee　kinely；　Ma’m。　Ah　knows　it　an’　you　knows　it；　but　dem　Yankee　folks　doan　know　it　an’　dey　doan　want　ter　know　it；　Huccome　dey　come　mixin’　in　our　bizness；　Miss　Scarlett？　Dey　doan　unnerstan’　us　Confedruts。”
　Scarlett　said　nothing　for　she　was　still　burning　with　the　wrath　she　had　not　exploded　in　the　Yankee　women’s　faces。　The　two　drove　home　in　silence。　Peter’s　sniffles　stopped　and　his　underlip　began　to　protrude　gradually　until　it　stuck　out　alarmingly。　His　indignation　was　mounting；　now　that　the　initial　hurt　was　subsiding。
　Scarlett　thought：　What　damnably　queer　people　Yankees　are！　Those　women　seemed　to　think　that　because　Uncle　Peter　was　black；　he　had　no　ears　to　hear　with　and　no　feelings；　as　tender　as　their　own；　to　be　hurt。　They　did　not　know　that　negroes　had　to　be　handled　gently；　as　though　they　were　children；　directed；　praised；　petted；　scolded。　They　didn’t　understand　negroes　or　the　relations　between　the　negroes　and　their　former　masters。　Yet　they　had　fought　a　war　to　free　them。　And　having　freed　them；　they　didn’t　want　to　have　anything　to　do　with　them；　except　to　use　them　to　terrorize　Southerners。　They　didn’t　like　them；　didn’t　trust　them；　didn’t　understand　them；　and　yet　their　constant　cry　was　that　Southerners　didn’t　know　how　to　get　along　with　them。
　Not　trust　a　darky！　Scarlett　trusted　them　far　more　than　most　white　people；　certainly　more　than　she　trusted　any　Yankee。　There　were　qualities　of　loyalty　and　tirelessness　and　love　in　them　that　no　strain　could　break；　no　money　could　buy。　She　thought　of　the　faithful　few　who　remained　at　Tara　in　the　face　of　the　Yankee　invasion　when　they　could　have　fled　or　joined　the　troops　for　lives　of　leisure。　But　they　had　stayed。　She　thought　of　Dilcey　toiling　in　the　cotton　fields　beside　her；　of　Pork　risking　his　life　in　neighboring　hen　houses　that　the　family　might　eat；　of　Mammy　coming　to　Atlanta　with　her　to　keep　her　from　doing　wrong。　She　thought　of　the　servants　of　her　neighbors　who　had　stood　loyally　beside　their　white　owners；　protecting　their　mistresses　while　the　men　were　at　the　front；　refugeeing　with　them　through　the　terrors　of　the　war；　nursing　the　wounded；　burying　the　dead；　comforting　the　bereaved；　working；　begging；　stealing　to　keep　food　on　the　tables。　And　even　now；　with　the　Freedmen’s　Bureau　promising　all　manner　of　wonders；　they　still　stuck　with　their　white　folks　and　worked　much　harder　than　they　ever　worked　in　slave　times。　But　the　Yankees　didn’t　understand　these　things　and　would　never　understand　them。
　“Yet　they　set　you　free；”　she　said　aloud。
　“No；　Ma’m！　Dey　din’　sot　me　free。　Ah　wouldn’　let　no　sech　trash　sot　me　free；”　said　Peter　indignantly。　“Ah　still　b’longs　ter　Miss　Pitty　an’　w’en　Ah　dies　she　gwine　lay　me　in　de　Hamilton　buhyin’　groun’　whar　Ah　b’longs。　。。。　Mah　Miss　gwine　ter　be　in　a　state　w’en　Ah　tells　her　‘bout　how　you　let　dem　Yankee　women　‘sult　me。”
　“I　did　no　such　thing！”　cried　Scarlett；　startled。
　“You　did　so；　Miss　Scarlett；”　said　Peter；　pushing　out　his　lip　even　farther。　“De　pint　is；　needer　you　nor　me　had　no　bizness　bein’　wid　Yankees；　so　dey　could　‘sult　me。　Ef　you　hadn’t　talked　wid　dem；　dey　wouldn’　had　no　chance　ter　treat　me　lak　a　mule　or　a　Affikun。　An’　you　din’　tek　up　fer　me；　needer。”
　“I　did；　too！”　said　Scarlett；　stung　by　the　criticism。　“Didn’t　I　tell　them　you　were　one　of　the　family？”
　“Dat　ain’　tekkin’　up。　Dat’s　jes’　a　fac’；”　said　Peter。　“Miss　Scarlett；　you　ain’　got　no　bizness　havin’　no　truck　wid　Yankees。　Ain’　no　other　ladies　doin’　it。　You　wouldn’　ketch　Miss　Pitty　wipin’　her　lil　shoes　on　sech　trash。　An’　she　ain’　gwine　lake　it　w’en　she　hear　‘bout　whut　dey　said　‘bout　me。”
　Peter’s　criticism　hurt　worse　than　anything　Frank　or　Aunt　Pitty　or　the　neighbors　had　said　and　it　so　annoyed　her　she　longed　to　shake　the　old　darky　until　his　toothless　gums　clapped　together。　What　Peter　said　was　true　but　she　hated　to　hear　it　from　a　negro　and　a　family　negro；　too。　Not　to　stand　high　in　the　opinion　of　one’s　servants　was　as　humiliating　a　thing　as　could　happen　to　a　Southerner。
　“A　ole　pet！”　Peter　grumbled。　“Ah　specs　Miss　Pitty　ain’t　gwine　want　me　ter　drive　you　roun’　no　mo’　after　dat。　No；　Ma’m！”
　“Aunt　Pitty　will　want　you　to　drive　me　as　usual；”　she　said　sternly；　“so　let’s　hear　no　more　about　it。”
　“Ah’ll　git　a　mizry　in　mah　back；”　warned　Peter　darkly。　“Mah　back　huttin’　me　so　bad　dis　minute　Ah　kain　sceercely　set　up。　Mah　Miss　ain’　gwine　want　me　ter　do　no　drivin’　w’en　Ah　got　a　mizry。　。。。　Miss　Scarlett；　it　ain’　gwine　do　you　no　good　ter　stan’　high　wid　de　Yankees　an’　de　w’ite　trash；　ef　yo’　own　folks　doan　‘prove　of　you。”
　That　was　as　accurate　a　summing　up　of　the　situation　as　could　be　made　and　Scarlett　relapsed　into　infuriated　silence。　Yes；　the　conquerors　did　approve　of　her　and　her　family　and　her　neighbors　did　not。　She　knew　all　the　things　the　town　was　saying　about　her。　And　now　even　Peter　disapproved　of　her　to　the　point　of　not　caring　to　be　seen　in　public　with　her。　That　was　the　last　straw。
　Heretofore　she　had　been　careless　of　public　opinion；　careless　and　a　little　contemptuous。　But　Peter’s　words　caused　fierce　resentment　to　burn　in　her　breast；　drove　her　to　a　defensive　position；　made　her　suddenly　dislike　her　neighbors　as　much　as　she　disliked　the　Yankees。
　“Why　should　they　care　what　I　do？”　she　thought。　“They　must　think　I　enjoy　associating　with　Yankees　and　working　like　a　field　hand。　They’re　just　making　a　hard　job　harder　for　me。　But　I　don’t　care　what　they　think。　I　won’t　let　myself　care。　I　can’t　afford　to　care　now。　But　some　day—some　day—”
　Oh　some　day！　When　there　was　security　in　her　world　again；　then　she　would　sit　back　and　fold　her　hands　and　be　a　great　lady　as　Ellen　had　been。　She　would　be　helpless　and　sheltered；　as　a　lady　should　be；　and　then　everyone　would　approve　of　her。　Oh；　how　grand　she　would　be　when　she　had　money　again！　Then　she　could　permit　herself　to　be　kind　and　gentle；　as　Ellen　had　been；　and　thoughtful　of　other　people　and　of　the　proprieties；　too。　She　would　not　be　driven　by　fears；　day　and　night；　and　life　would　be　a　placid；　unhurried　affair。　She　would　have　time　to　play　with　her　children　and　listen　to　their　lessons。　There　would　be　long　warm　afternoons　when　ladies　would　call　and；　amid　the　rustlings　of　taffeta　petticoats　and　the　rhythmic　harsh　cracklings　of　palmetto　fans；　she　would　serve　tea　and　delicious　sandwiches　and　cakes　and　leisurely　gossip　the　hours　away。　And　she　would　be　so　kind　to　those　who　were　suffering　misfortune；　take　baskets　to　the　poor　and　soup　and　jelly　to　the　sick