Queen (49 page)

    family groups, were some Indians, Cherokee or Chickasaw, James guessed,

    tribally dressed for winter. They had luggage with them, bundles and

    packs, as if they were going on a journey.

    They did nothing but stare at the mansion, or the hill on which it stood.

    They seemed to have no purpose or intention, and their stillness maddened

    the dogs more than any movement.

James became aware of Cap'n Jack standing beside him.

"It's Doublehead," Cap'n Jack said.

    Young Chief Jimmy Doublehead, now a man of forty, was standing at the

    gate, a woman beside him carrying a child, and a couple of elders. Like

    the others, they did nothing but stare at the house.

"Kennel the dogs," James said.

Mitchell was reluctant. You never knew, with Indians.

:'Sir, them's Injuns-" he began, but James cut him short.

    'Kennel the dogs!" he commanded.

    Mitchell glanced at Noah, and at the Chickasaw, and having no choice,

    obeyed the order, pulling the dogs away, behind the house.

    Once the dogs were gone, Doublehead and the elders began walking to the

    house. It was a cold evening. James shivered a little, and went back

    inside.

    Shortly afterward, there was a tap on the door of his study, and Parson

    Dick came in, followed by Doublehead, his squaw, and the elders. James

    rose from his desk to greet his old friend.

    11 Jimmy, how good to see you," he said warmly, holding out his hand. But

    Doublehead did not accept the greeting, and spoke in Cherokee.

    "You know I can't speak your language," James said, and laughed. "I know

    I should, the years I've lived here, but let's speak in English."

But Doublehead spoke again in his language. There was a

    MERGING 293

small silence, and James was embarrassed. The gravity of the Cherokee's

demeanor disturbed him.

    "He says he will not speak the white man's tongue," a quiet voice said,

    and James realized that it was Parson Dick.

    "Since he is forbidden by white man's law to live among you, he sees no

    need for your language," Parson Dick continued.

    James was astonished that Parson Dick had any knowledge of Cherokee, but

    was more concerned at establishing some communication with Jimmy.

"What does he want?" James asked.

Parson Dick spoke in Cherokee, and Doublehead replied.

    "You told us we could live amongst you as equals, but that is denied to

    us," Parson Dick said. "Now you tell us that we cannot even live amongst

    you."

He listened again.

"What will you tell us next? That we cannot live?-

    James had no reply. He was excluded from Doublehead's world now, just as

    Doublehead was being excluded from his.

    "They are going on a long journey, to new land in the West, away from the

    power of the white man, and they are very pleased."

    Although a Cherokee, Jimmy had been living on the Chickasaw land since

    his father's death, had married a Chickasaw woman, and was now going west

    with these people, but James was surprised. He had not thought that the

    enforced removal would be a source of comfort to any Indian.

    "I wish them well," James said. "it will be a difficult journey. "

Parson Dick translated and listened to the reply.

    "Many have gone before and have not survived," he told James. "But they

    have no choice, for if they stay here they will surely perish."

    He listened to Doublehead. James looked at the squaw. Cradling the child

    in her arrns, she stared ahead, not seeing him, not seeing anything. She

    seemed to James to have no sense Of future, no sense of hope.

    "The chief wishes to thank you for the many kindnesses you have shown to

    him and to his father, and he asks that you grant one more."

294 ALEX HALEY'S QUEEN

    Anything, James thought, I would give anything to be free of this guilt.

"Anything," he said.

Doublehead spoke, and Parson Dick translated.

    "This land is sacred to the tribe, the spirits of their ancestors live

    here. The child, the chief's new son, has not heard their voices, and

    they wish to take the spirits with them, to the new land, in the West."

    They were in territory that James did not understand. He looked to Parson

    Dick for help.

    "It will be a short ceremony," he said, "and they will be gone by dawn."

    "Of course," said James, surprised that it was so easy, and wishing they

    were gone now.

    Parson Dick told Jimmy and the Chickasaw of the assent, and they moved

    to go.

    "Tell him-" He stopped, not knowing what he wanted to say. "Tell him-that

    as long as I and my family own this land, they will always be welcome

    here."

    Doublehead turned to James in amazement, and saw an unbridgeable gulf

    between his people and the white men who pretended to be their brothers.

    He spoke, for the first time, in English. The point he wanted to make was

    so basic to his thinking that he did not trust any translation.

    "You do not own this land," he said. "You may have the use of it while

    you live, but you cannot own it."

    He knew James didn't understand, but he had to try to make someone

    comprehend. He had so little time.

    "You use the land while you live, a few short years, and pass it to your

    sons. But if they are killed in battle, or if they have no sons, who does

    the land belong to then?"

    James could stand it no longer. "It is my land, forever!" he cried out.

    Doublehead knew he had touched a deep chord in James, but suddenly felt

    inadequate to express the depth of his feelings.

    "The land is eternal, and we are mortal," he said. "You cannot own land."

    He saw, with astonishing clarity, that James was scared, and understood

    that he was scared of death, that the white men

    MERGING 295

were seared of dying. Their afterlife, their spirit world, was in some

other, unknown country, and they were afraid to go there. Suddenly, all

the wars and the treaties and the bargains and the promises seemed a

useless waste of time, because the Indians had never understood the basic

fear that possessed the white men. Doublehead knew that he would never see

the new land in the West because he had no heart for it. He knew that he

would die on the journey, and his spirit would roam forever, free, in this

country of his ancestors. All he cared about now was his son, whose life

was not yet chanted. He couldn't bear to look at James anymore, and left

the room. The squaw, who had never looked at James, followed, with the

elders.

    Parson Dick did not leave. James had slumped into his chair, and Parson

    Dick waited for some response or order that he was sure would come.

    He coughed gently, and James looked at him, as if surprised he was still

    there.

    "Yes, a brandy," James said, and was silent while Parson Dick poured the

    drink. Doublehead was wrong. James did understand.

"How do you know the language?" he asked eventually.

    "My Massa before you was a Cherokee chief," Parson Dick replied.

    He left the room. James's mind swirled with contradictory thoughts, his

    heart with conflicting emotions. He had seen, with a clarity that rivaled

    Doublehead's, the great chasm between the white world and that of the

    native peoples. For one small, glorious moment, he envied them. The idea

    that his spirit might dwell for all eternity on this land that he loved

    was precious to him, but he did not believe in such spirit life, and for

    one small, terrible moment he felt a visceral fear of the God of wrath

    and judgment.

    He took a sip of brandy, and relaxed. It was easy now. Since the two

    peoples would never understand each other, it was better that the Indians

    go. Andrew had won, Andrew had been right all the time. Since they could

    not co-exist, they should not even try.

James felt better than he had done in years.

The ceremony was short and very simple, and James was charmed by it. The

Chickasaw built a fire on the lawn, and

296 ALEX HALEY'S QUEEN

sat around it, chanting, a few men beating small drums, Two elders danced

around the fire, summoning the ancestors, James knew.

    Slaves had gathered to watch. The drumming and chanting seemed to evoke

    some primal, distant memories in them, of other times and other countries

    that most of them had no remembrance of, and they began swaying to the

    rhythm.

    Doublehead, his son cradled in his arms, walked to the center of the

    circle of people, and as the beat quickened, he raised his son to the

    stars, to hear the voices of the old ones. Again, it struck that distant

    echo of memory in the slaves, and they sighed, or it might have been the

    gentle wind in the leafless trees, but for a moment James thought he

    heard the old ones answer.

    A shiver ran down his spine. This simple ceremony had touched some

    mystic, primal chord in James, in a way that no Christian idea ever had,

    and it frightened him. If these people were truly in touch with the

    spirit world, if they could so easily evoke forces, passions, instincts

    that were inaccessible to whites, or at least discounted by them, then

    perhaps the wrong being done to them was greater than James had ever

    allowed himself to imagine. He looked at his slaves, who so obviously had

    some visceral understanding of the rituals being enacted; perhaps they

    too understood things that were alien to James. And if it was wrong to

    disinherit the Indians, was it as great a wrong to disinherit the blacks?

    Already James knew the answer, but to proceed along that path was even

    more destructive to the world he had created than any of the previous

    terrors he had felt. He turned his head away to break the spell being

    woven on him, and tried to dismiss what he was hearing, what he was

    seeing, and what he was thinking, because he wanted to, as simple

    superstition. These are primitive peoples, he told himself, the red and

    the black, and it is incumbent on us to defend them and protect them. But

    without us they are nothing. Without us, the land is nothing. Without us,

    the world returns to pagan savagery, and has no meaning.

    He went back into the house and poured himself another brandy. Tomorrow,

    the Indians would be gone, and there would be no further questions about

    their land and how it was appropriated.

    MERGING 297

    The Chickasaw were as good as their word, and were gone by dawn, on their

    long journey west, to Texas. Apart from the ashes of a fire, there was

    no evidence that they had ever been there.

    And it is proper that they go, James thought. We have done our best for

    them.

It is the duty of the strong to took after the weak.

Jass was not weak, but he enjoyed the protective ann of Wesley around him.

To his surprise, it had been easy to embellish their small acquaintance,

and it had flowered into a curious friendship. The unlikely foundation to

it was the cause of their previous quarrels. Jass was interested in black

people in a general sense, but Wesley was developing a passion for black

women.

    "Oh, I love them, man," he said almost every day. "Especially in a proper

    bed, that black skin on a white sheet."

    Jass blushed the first time Wesley said this, because he could imagine

    it only too well. He tried to think of Lizzie on crisp linen sheets, and

    while it was exciting, it didn't arouse him nearly as much as an image

    of Easter in the same situation. Wesley, sensing the weakness, played on

    it, giving laughing, voluptuous descriptions of his encounters with slave

    women, which aroused fierce urges in Jass. Then he would tease Jass about

    his sensitivity on the subject of slavery, and Jass, still basking in the

    warm memory of white female congratulation in Nashville, began to think

    that perhaps slavery was the best solution for the blacks.

    It surprised Jass too that Wesley, school champion, constantly surrounded

    by admiring cohorts, had very few close friends. He was welcomed and

    immediately liked wherever he went, perceived at first, Jass could tell,

    as the quintessential young Southern man. Wesley reveled in the

    adulation, but delighted in shocking people because he knew he would be

    forgiven much. Emboldened by this very charity, Wesley's challenges to

    revered institutions were becoming sharper and more caustic, and

    attitudes to him were changing. He would skate, wildly, dangerously

    across the thinnest ice of decency in conversation, especially with young

    ladies, and initially this sauciness had provoked a few raised eyebrows

    and the com-

    298 ALEX HALEY'S QUEEN

ment from older men that he was a young ram. Often now, however, he would go

too far, the ice would crack beneath him, and the words "Young scoundrel"

were frequently whispered, not always behind his back.

    Like Jass, Wesley was a second son, bom to money, but his older brother was

    healthy and not adventurous, and so, barring accidents, it was unlikely

    that Wesley would ever inherit the family name or position, and he felt no

    sense of impending responsibility. "Life is for living," he would tell

    Jass, and was directing all his burning, golden energy to that end. His

    attitude to slavery was simple: It always had been and always would be, it

    was essential to their survival, and it was right, and if the Feds ever

    tried to abolish it there'd be a war. Wesley loved the South and all it

    stood for, believed it was one of the greatest civilizations the world had

    ever known, and longed for a chance to thrash the Yankees in battle.

    Or to thrash anybody, because it wasn't the cause, Jass learned, it was the

    fight. It was the danger. It was the adventure. Wesley was bored. Reckless

    with a young man's energy, Wesley hated school, hated the idea of college,

    and hated even more the idea of a life as indolent second son, indulged and

    pampered, waiting in the wings for a role that, once his older brother had

    sons, would never be his.

"And then what do I do?" he despaired.

    "Get lost in New Orleans, I imagine," Jass had laughingly responded, for

    everyone knew of that city's free and easy reputation.

    Wesley shook his head. "No, whores are fine, but why pay for something when

    you can get it free?" The most compelling argument for slavery in Wesley's

    mind was that it provided him with an endless supply of women who could not

    say no to him.

    "And anyway, that's for after the battle," he continued. "It's the fight

    that gets your blood up."

    Jass was staying with him for the weekend, and they were in his room, in

    separate beds to sleep. Suddenly Wesley jumped up, and began shadow-boxing

    with the wall.

    "It's all this bloody civilization," he said. "Everything's so neat and

    ordered now. There aren't any good battles left."

"Texas," Jass said, smiling because he knew the effect the

    MERGING 299

word would have, and because Wesley looked funny, feinting at the wall in

his nightshirt.

    "Yes, Texas," Wesley almost groaned. "That's where I should be."

    Texas was his dream. Texas was the new frontier. There was going to be

    a war in Texas, no doubt about it, for the white settlers there were

    chafing under Mexican rule, and the Mexican general, Santa Ana, was

    determined to bring them to colonial heel. Scores of young men were

    heading for Texas.

    "That's the place for me," said Wesley, his eyes bright with longing.

    "Kick the Dons' cods in daytime, and javer their women at night."

    He fell back on the bed, and grinned at Jass. "There's this little

    mulatta down in the slave quarters," he teased. "Hotter than the sun in

    August. Shall you go down there with me?"

    Jass laughed, and shook his head. It happened all the time. Wesley was

    determined that Jass should lose his virginity in his presence, but

    delighted in Jass's persistent refusal.

    "I know, saving it for someone special," he mimicked Jass's response. He

    punched his pillow, and was silent for a moment. Then he took a little

    bottle from a drawer in the table beside his bed. He held it out to Jass.

    Jass was inclined.to shake his head again. He'd had laudanum a few times

    when he was sick, and once, recently, with Wesley, who stole it

    occasionally from his mother's medicine chest. Jass had loved it, loved

    the sensation of floating on a fluffy pink cloud, all time and care and

    guilt removed. It was so wonderful, it frightened him too, and he worried

    that Wesley was falling prey to its powerful addiction. He didn't want

    to offend his friend, nor appear childish, so he took the bottle, put it

    to his lips and, pretended to swallow. Wesley laughed, took the bottle

    back and swigged the drug.

    "Better than being bored to death," he said, and lay back on his pillow,

    to prepare for the dreams.

    Jass relaxed too. He'd taken only a tiny drop of the opiate, but it was

    enough. He began to feet warm and slow, and his heart swelled with

    affection for his restless friend. He laughed at the very idea that he

    could call Wesley his friend, but was thrilled with it, for he often felt

    that Wesley was taking him to places he would never have gone by himself,

    if only in his mind. Like riding an eagle, he thought.

300 ALEX HALEY'S QUEEN

    He chuckled again at the things they had done together. Now when he puffed

    on his corncob pipe, there was tobacco in it, because Wesley had taught him

    to smoke. Once they had tried hemp, and Jass had loved that at first, but

    fought against it, and had become ill. And once he had gone with Wesley to

    that mulatta in the slave quarters. He'd stayed outside, but had listened