thought you was sup-
212
posed to be smart.”
KINDRED
He was a big man. He hadn’t impressed me as being very quick, but he was strong. I was afraid that even if I managed to hurt him, I wouldn’t hurt him enough to keep him from killing me. Maybe I should make him try to kill me. Maybe it would get me out of this Godawful place where people punished you for helping them. Maybe it would get me home. But in how many pieces? Fowler would take the knife away from me and give it back edge first.
I turned and slashed furiously at the corn stalk, then at the next. Behind me, Fowler laughed.
“Maybe you got some sense after all,” he said.
He watched me for a while, urging me on, literally cracking the whip. By the time he left, I was sweating, shaking, humiliated. I met the woman who had been working toward me and she whispered, “Slow down! Take a lick or two if you have to. You kill yourself today, he’ll push you to kill yourself every day.”
There was sense in that. Hell, if I went on the way I had been, I wouldn’t even last through today. My shoulders were already beginning to ache.
Fowler came back as I was gathering the cut stalks. “What the devil do you think you’re doing!” he demanded. “You ought to be halfway down the next row by now.” He hit me across the back as I bent down. “Move! You’re not in the cookhouse getting fat and lazy now. Move!”
He did that all day. Coming up suddenly, shouting at me, ordering me to go faster no matter how fast I went, cursing me, threatening me. He didn’t hit me that often, but he kept me on edge because I never knew when a blow would fall. It got so just the sound of his coming terrified me. I caught myself cringing, jumping at the sound of his voice.
The woman in my row explained, “He’s always hard on a new nigger. Make ’em go fast so he can see how fast they can work. Then later on if they slow down, he whip ’em for gettin’ lazy.”
I made myself slow down. It wasn’t hard. I didn’t think my shoulders could have hurt much worse if they’d been broken. Sweat ran down into my eyes and my hands were beginning to blister. My back hurt from the blows I’d taken as well as from sore muscles. After a while, it was more painful for me to push myself than it was for me to let Fowler hit me. After a while, I was so tired, I didn’t care either way. Pain was pain. After a while, I just wanted to lie down between the rows and not get up again.
THE ST ORM 213
I stumbled and fell, got up and fell again. Finally, I lay face-down in the dirt, unable to get up. Then came a welcome blackness. I could have been going home or dying or passing out; it made no difference to me. I was going away from the pain. That was all.
6
I was on my back when I came to and there was a white face floating just above me. For a wild moment, I thought it was Kevin, thought I was home. I said his name eagerly.
“It’s me, Dana.”
Rufus’s voice. I was still in hell. I closed my eyes, not caring what would happen next.
“Dana, get up. You’ll be hurt more if I carry you than if you walk.” The words echoed strangely in my head. Kevin had said something
like that to me once. I opened my eyes again to be sure it was Rufus.
It was. I was still in the cornfield, still lying in the dirt.
“I came to get you,” said Rufus. “Not soon enough, I guess.”
I struggled to my feet. He offered a hand to help me, but I ignored it. I brushed myself off a little and followed him down the row toward his horse. From there, we rode together back to the house without a word passing between us. At the house, I went straight to the well, got a bucket of water, carried it up the stairs somehow, then washed, spread antisep- tic on my new cuts, and put on clean clothes. I had a headache that even- tually drove me down to Rufus’s room for some Excedrin. Rufus had used all the aspirins.
Unfortunately, he was in his room.
“Well, you’re no good in the fields,” he said when he saw me. “That’s clear.”
I stopped, turned, and stared at him. Just stared. He had been sitting on his bed, leaning back against the headboard, but now he straightened, faced me.
“Don’t do anything stupid, Dana.”
“Right,” I said softly. “I’ve done enough stupid things. How many times have I saved your life so far?” My aching head sent me to his desk
214
KINDRED
where I had left the Excedrin. I shook three of them into my hand. I had never taken so many before. I had never needed so many before. My hands were trembling.
“Fowler would have given you a good whipping if I hadn’t stopped him,” said Rufus. “That’s not the first beating I’ve saved you from.”
I had my Excedrin. I turned to leave the room. “Dana!”
I stopped, looked at him. He was thin and weak and hollow-eyed; his illness had left its marks on him. He probably couldn’t have carried me to his horse if he’d tried. And he couldn’t stop me from leaving now—I thought.
“You walk away from me, Dana, you’ll be back in the fields in an hour!”
The threat stunned me. He meant it. He’d send me back out. I stood straring at him, not with anger now, but with surprise—and fear. He could do it. Maybe later, I would have a chance to make him pay, but for now, he could do as he pleased. He sounded more like his father than himself. In that moment, he even looked like his father.
“Don’t you ever walk away from me again!” he said. Strangely, he began to sound a little afraid. He repeated the words, spacing them, emphasizing each one. “
I stood where I was, my head throbbing, my expression as neutral as I
could make it. I still had some pride left. “Get back in here!” he said.
I stood there for a moment longer, then went back to his desk and sat down. And he wilted. The look I associated with his father vanished. He was himself again—whoever that was.
“Dana, don’t make me talk to you like that,” he said wearily. “Just do what I tell you.”
I shook my head, unable to think of anything safe to say. And I guess I wilted. To my shame, I realized I was almost crying. I needed desper- ately to be alone. Somehow, I kept back the tears.
If he noticed, he didn’t say anything. I remembered I still had the Excedrin tablets in my hand, and I took them, swallowed them without water, hoping they’d work quickly, steady me a little. Then I looked at Rufus, saw that he’d lain back again. Was I supposed to stay and watch him sleep?
“I don’t see how you can swallow those things like that,” he said, rub-
THE ST ORM 215
bing his throat. There was a long silence, then another command. “Say something! Talk to me!”
“Or what?” I asked. “Are you going to have me beaten for not talking to you?”
He muttered something I didn’t quite hear. “What?”
Silence. Then a rush of bitterness from me.
“I saved your life, Rufus! Over and over again.” I stopped for a moment, caught my breath. “And I tried to save your father’s life. You know I did. You know I didn’t kill him or let him die.”
He moved uncomfortably, wincing a little. “Give me some of your medicine,” he said.
Somehow, I didn’t throw the bottle at him. I got up and handed it to him.
“Open it,” he said. “I don’t want to be bothered with that damn top.”
I opened it, shook one tablet into his hand, and snapped the top back on.
He looked at the tablet. “Only one?”
“These are stronger than the others,” I said. And also, I wanted to hang on to them for as long as I could. Who knew how many more times he would make me need them. The ones I had taken were beginning to help me already.
“You took three,” he said
