Cousin Bill sat on bales
of cotton on a riverboat gliding down the Mississippi River. This was the third time he’d been sold. The first time he was 5 years old. His new master took him stealthily while all
were asleep. In a dream, he was
floating. He knew he was gliding across
the lands of the earth and was a magical being.
When reality seeped into his consciousness, his whimper awoke his
mother. For the rest of his life, his
mother’s heart rending screams pounded his ears.
This master was
kind and he even learned to read. While
he never forgot his mother, Cousin Bill accepted his lot in life. He got religion on his 20th
birthday and steadfastly read the bible daily, trying to live the life taught
in the scriptures. Then he was sold
again.
Master Peterson was
a kind man and cried when telling Cousin Bill he would have a new owner. “But massa Peedason,” Cousin Bill gasped in despair,
“wat’d I do wrong? Ayz sorry massa. Ayz won’t duagin, ayz promis.”
Master Peterson
slowly exhaled, “Now Cousin Bill, you’ve done nothing wrong. I have debts to this man and….” His voice trailed off. Cousin Bill felt his heart sink further as he
searched his owner’s eyes. Finally,
Master Peterson added, “I don’t have a choice.
I’m sorry but I don’t.”
Cousin Bill’s faith
was sorely tested under his austere new owner.
Master Van Dyke also believed in God.
Cousin Bill’s God was one that gave to those in need, and loved his
neighbor as himself. Master Van Dyke
read the same bible as Cousin Bill.
However, his religion was more about personal piety. He quoted verses Cousin Bill had read but,
somehow missed.
The first time
Cousin Bill was bound to the whipping post, Master Van Dyke quoted, “And that
servant that knoweth his lord’s will, and prepared himself not, nor having done
according to his will, shalt be beaten with many stripes.”
Even after his back
healed, the scars on his soul remained. Like the scar that time may heal, but not remove, the flogged man remembers
his degradation. The whip not only wounds
the flesh, it wounds the spirit.
Thereafter, Cousin Bill’s gaiety was empty. Sometimes his countenance became suddenly blank
in the midst of the day. It was the whip entering the soul anew.
Now he was going
down river. It was a place all Negros
knew was worse than death. How he wished
he could unhook the shackles from the boat and cast himself into the
river. The weight of the irons would
ensure he would never resurface. He preferred
to be eaten by creatures of the deep than live another day. In his misery, Cousin Bill never noticed the
fair skinned little girl board the boat with her family. He didn’t hear her exclaim to her parents
upon spying Cousin Bill upon the cotton bales, “Mommy, daddy, I just saw a
chocolate person!”
Alone in his
thoughts, Cousin Bill wanted to lash out at the world with all the anger and
desperation forced down for the last 7 years but he feared more beatings. After the boat cast off, he saw her, vibrant
and with a face of joy. Hopeless and
brimming with despair, Cousin Bill was drawn to watch her move about the
boat. He saw she was watching him.
Ever so slowly, she
closed the space between them. Finally, she
started talking to him, about the boat and it being her first boat ride. Cousin Bill was reminded of Master Peterson’s
oldest daughter, Miss Cora. She’d always
been kinds to him. This little girl
asked, “Why do you have chains on your legs?”
Embarrassed, Cousin
Bill said, “Well, uh, I been sol to a new massa.”
“I’m Emily. What’s your name?”
“Bill but dey call
me Cousin Bill, Miss Emily.”
The girl beamed in
a sweet smile. “Are you my cousin?”
Warmed by her
smile, Cousin Bill replied, “Ayz don buhleev so, miss. Yourn folk not like mines.”
“Can you play with
me?”
Cousin Bill lifted
a shackled leg and said, “Be kina hawd ta play like dis, Miss Emily.”
Emily frowned as
the gears of her mind turned. Her mother
started calling and admonishing her to “stay away from the niger.” She faced Cousin Bill and said, “You’re nice
Cousin Bill. We will play when you get
those things off your legs.” She turned
and ran for her mother.
A singular hope
filled him. Cousin Bill whispered, “Ayz
hopes weez do, Miss Emily. Ay sho hopes
weez do.”
A crack appeared in
the callous of Cousin Bill’s soul. In
such a brief moment, the pure heart of Emily touched him indelibly. Her genuine compassion was a sweet aroma in
the sulfurous hell that was Cousin Bill’s life.
With love, it was possible not to see the color of a man’s skin. Love makes no requirements or demands. It simply does what it knows. Love loves.
