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Free at Lastby Anel VizRollo, the black overseer, called them all to a meeting on the trampled earth outside the cabins. Talked too much, that man did. “Miz Lizbet’, she gone. New Massa say ever’body gotta come up to de big house an’ walk de body to de cemetery fer de fun’ral. In yo’ bes’ close, he say, an’ yo’ make sho’ dey clean. Y’all git off work early tomorra an’ go down to de ribbah fer a bath, lak’ Sunday. Women an’ chilluns at fo’ o’clock, men at six.” Few of the field hands had ever laid eyes on Miss Elizabeth, but it was no secret the whole plantation bent to her will. Her son would be master now. Him they knew, but they couldn’t guess what kind of master he would be. * * * * * Philip came into the parlor. His wife had thrown a black shawl over her pink gown and tied black ribbons in her honey-colored hair. She sat listlessly in the rocker with tear-stained cheeks, dabbing her hankie at eyes as pink as her dress. What did she have to snivel about? The old woman had tyrannized her. “Honestly, Louella, where are your weeds? Mamma’s been dead nearly two hours, and here you sit, dressed as for a lawn party. You might at least close the curtains. Haven’t you anything more somber, like purple or dark brown?” She shook her curls at him. “Sally’s altering my mourning clothes. They’ll be ready by suppertime.” “Let cook know that Cousin Julian will be joining us. I’ve sent for him; there’s so much needs to be done. He can stay in the room adjoining mine.” She looked up at him with wide, anxious eyes. Did she suspect what her life would be like now that he was out from under his mother’s thumb? “I’m riding down to the road to wait for him,” he said. “He won’t be long. Montgomery isn’t that far away, and I’m sure he’ll set out as soon as he gets my note.” He’d written: “The dragon has breathed her last. You’re free to come home.” * * * * * That night, luxuriating in the afterglow of their lovemaking, Philip and Julian lay in each other’s arms, running their hands up and down the sleek nudity they had missed so long. “I needed that,” Philip whispered. “Shall we go to the fields tomorrow for old times’ sake and watch the slaves at work as we did when we were boys? Remember how we used to stare at their sweaty bodies, admire their muscles and talk about what they’d look like with their clothes off?” “I’ve thought of something better. I gave orders for all the men to bathe in the river at six to get clean for the funeral the next morning. We can ride by and see them all naked.” Julian smiled. “Is Zeke still here? Is he still as gorgeous as he was?” Philip nodded. "Still here." “Now we can do what we dreamed of doing,” Julian went on. “We can bring him up to our room and play whenever we feel like it. I bet his cock is enormous.” “We can’t, not with Zeke; it’d get back to the field hands. The whole plantation would find out. We have to be discreet.” “But we promised ourselves a three-way with a darkie, as often as we wanted, just as soon as we could get away with it.” “I thought of that too. After Mamma’s buried we’ll go to auction and choose a man just for that purpose. We’ll make him your personal slave.” Julian nuzzled into his cousin’s neck and nipped at his ear. “We’ll have such fun choosing him,” he cooed. “Don’t get too carried away. We’ll have to examine his teeth too – especially his teeth. The traders always try to make them look younger and sturdier than they really are.” * * * * * Zeke stood among the gathered slaves, singing his heart out. “Swing low, sweet chariot, comin’ for to carry me home...” Julian had trouble recognizing him from his place by the open grave. Years of laboring in the fields had aged him terribly. He remembered how he’d looked twelve years ago, a strong, tall, handsome man with skin like mahogany. He smiled at his cousin. They’d buy a man like that at next week’s auction, and keep him in the house so he’d stay beautiful. Philip’s hand gripped Louella’s elbow. He looked disconsolate, as a grieving son should, but the twinkle in his eye said he knew what Julian was thinking. * * * * * Naked on the auction block, newly washed and oiled, Opie’s young body gleamed in the noonday sun. This was the first time he’d been sold. He’d never imagined how ashamed he would feel. Who would buy him? How far from home would they take him? What would his work be? The two men examined him closely, like the piece of merchandise he was. They reached under his lips and looked at his teeth. They felt him all over, testing the firmness of his muscles. He had expected that. Their attention to his genitals surprised him. One pulled back his foreskin and squeezed his penis till he began to harden in the man’s hand. He even probed his anus with a finger. Opie didn’t move, taking his cue from the other slaves, who stood by stone-faced and inert, as if their minds had gone blank. But they saw. “Want him for stud” the seller asked. “Could be. How old is the nigger?” “Fifteen, sixteen years.” Opie hadn’t known that. He shut his ears so as not to hear them haggling over his price. “Please, God,” he thought, “not these men.” “You belong to Master Julian now,” the taller one said, nodding at his friend. “You’ll be working for him in the big house. You’re one lucky nigger.” Author
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