The Conjure WomanChesnutt, Charles W. (Charles Waddell)
General
The Conjure Woman
Chesnutt, Charles W. (Charles Waddell)
African Americans -- Fiction; Southern States -- Social life and customs -- Fiction
"Julius," I remarked, "I am thinking of setting out scuppernong vines on
that sand-hill where the three persimmon-trees are; and while I'm
working there, I think I'll plant watermelons between the vines, and
get a little something to pay for my first year's work. The new railroad
will be finished by the middle of summer, and I can ship the melons
North, and get a good price for them."
"Ef you er gwine ter hab any mo' ploughin' ter do," replied Julius, "I
'spec' you'll ha' ter buy ernudder creetur, 'ca'se hit's much ez dem
hosses kin do ter 'ten' ter de wuk dey got now."
"Yes, I had thought of that. I think I'll get a mule; a mule can do
more work, and doesn't require as much attention as a horse."
"I would n' 'vise you ter buy no mule," remarked Julius, with a shake
of his head.
"Why not?"
"Well, you may 'low hit's all foolis'ness, but ef I wuz in yo' place, I
would n' buy no mule."
"But that isn't a reason; what objection have you to a mule?"
"Fac' is," continued the old man, in a serious tone, "I doan lack ter
dribe a mule. I 's alluz afeared I mought be imposin' on some human
creetur; eve'y time I cuts a mule wid a hick'ry, 'pears ter me mos'
lackly I's cuttin' some er my own relations, er somebody e'se w'at can't
he'p deyse'ves."
"What put such an absurd idea into your head?" I asked.
My question was followed by a short silence, during which Julius seemed
engaged in a mental struggle.
"I dunno ez hit's wuf w'ile ter tell you dis," he said, at length. "I
doan ha'dly 'spec' fer you ter b'lieve it. Does you 'member dat
club-footed man w'at hilt de hoss fer you de yuther day w'en you was
gittin' out'n de rockaway down ter Mars Archie McMillan's sto'?"
"Yes, I believe I do remember seeing a club-footed man there."
"Did you eber see a club-footed nigger befo' er sence?"
"No, I can't remember that I ever saw a club-footed colored man," I
replied, after a moment's reflection.
"You en Mis' Annie would n' wanter b'lieve me, ef I wuz ter 'low dat dat
man was oncet a mule?"
"No," I replied, "I don't think it very likely that you could make us
believe it."
"Why, Uncle Julius!" said Annie severely, "what ridiculous nonsense!"
This reception of the old man's statement reduced him to silence, and it
required some diplomacy on my part to induce him to vouchsafe an
explanation. The prospect of a long, dull afternoon was not alluring,
and I was glad to have the monotony of Sabbath quiet relieved by a
plantation legend.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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