Caspey drank coffee for a while.
“And another time me and a boy wuz gwine along a road. We got tired unloadin’ dem steamboats all day long, so one day de Captain’s dog-robber faun’ whar he kep’ dese here unloaded passes and he tuck a han’ful of ’um, and me and him wuz on de road to town when a truck come along and de boy axed us did us want a lif’.
He wuz a school boy, so he writ on three of de passes whenever we come to a place dat mought be M.P. infested, and we got along fine, ridin’ about de country on dat private truck, ’twell one mawnin’ we looked out whar de truck wuz and dey wuz a M.P. settin’ on it whilst de truck boy wuz tryin’ to explain to him. So we turned de other way and lit out walkin’. After dat we had to dodge de M.P. towns, ’case me and de other boy couldn’t write on de passes.
“One day we wuz gwine along a road. It wuz a busted-up road and it didn’t look like no M.P. country. But dey wuz some of ’em in de las’ town we dodged, so we didn’t know we wuz so close to whar de fightin’ wuz gwine on ’twell we walked on to a bridge and come right on a whole regiment of Germans, swimmin’ in de river. Dey seed us about de same time we seed dem and div under de water, and me and de other boy grabbed up two machine guns settin’ dar and we sot on de bridge rail, and ev’y time a German stuck his haid up fer a new breaf, us shot ’im. It wuz jes’ like shootin’ turkles in a slough.
I reckon dey wuz close to a hund’ed us kilt ’fa’ de machine guns run dry. Dat’s whut dey gimme dis fer.” He drew from his pocket a florid, plated, medal of Porto Rican origin, and Isom came quietly up to see.
“Umumuh,” Simon said. He sat with his hands on his knees, watching his son with rapt astonishment. Elnora tame up also, her arms daubed with flour.
“Whut does dey look like?” she asked. “Like folks?”
“Dey’s big,” Caspey answered. “Sort of pink lookin’ and about eight foot tall. Only folks in de whole American war dat could handle ’um wuz de cullud regiments.”
Isom returned to his corner beside the wood box. “Ain’t you got some gyardenin’ to do, boy?” Simon asked him.
“Naw, suh,” Isom answered, his enraptured gaze still on his uncle. “Miss Jenny say us done caught up dismawnin’.”
“Well, don’t you come whinin’ ter me when she jumps on you,” Simon warned him. “Whar’d you kill de nex’ lot?” he asked his son.
“Us didn’t kill no mo’ after dat,” Caspey said. “We decided dat wuz enough and dat we better leave de rest of ’um fer de boys dat wuz gittin’ paid fer killin’ ’um. We went on ’twell de road played out in a field. Dey wuz some ditches and ole wire fences and holes in de field, wid folks livin’ in ’um. De folks wuz white American soldiers and dey egvised us to pick out a hole and stay dar fer a while, ef us wanted de peace and comfort of de war. So we picked us out a dry hole and moved in.
Dey wasn’t nothin’ to do all day long but lay in de shade and watch de air balloons and listen to de shootin’ about fo’s miles up de road. De boy wid me claimed it wuz rabbit hunters, but I knowed better. De white boys could write, so dey fixed up de passes and we tuck time about gwine to whar de army wuz and gittin’ grub. When de passes give out we faun’ whar a French army wid some cannons wuz livin’ over in de woods a ways, so we went over whar dey wuz and et.
“Dat went on fer a long time, ’twell one day de balloons wuz gone and de white boys says it wuz time to move again. But me and de other boy didn’t see no use in gwine nowhar else, so us stayed. Dat evenin’ we went over to whar de French army wuz fer some grub, but dey wuz gone too. De boy wid me says de Germans done caught ’um, but we didn’t know; hadn’t heard no big racket since yistiddy.
So we went back to de hole. Dey wuzri’t no grub, so we crawled in and went to bed and slep’ dat night, and early de nex’ mawnin’ somebody come in de hole and tromped on us and woke us up. It wuz one of dese army upliftin’ ladies’ huntin’ German bayonets and belt-buckles. She say, ‘Who dat in here?’ and de other boy says, ‘Us shock troops.’ So we got out, but we hadn’t gone no piece ’fa’ here come a waggin-load of M.P.’s. And de passes had done give out.”
“Whut you do den?” Simon asked. Isom’s eyes bulged quietly in the gloom behind the woodbox.
“Dey tuck us and shut us up in de jailhouse fer a while. But de war wuz mos’ th’ough and dey needed hands to load dem steamboats back up, so dey sont us to a town name’ Bres’. . . . I don’t take nothin’ offen: no white man, M.P. er not,” Caspey stated again. “Us boys wuz in a room one night, shootin’ dice. De bugle had done already played de lights out tune, but we wuz in de army, whar a man kin do whut he wants to es long es dey’ll let ’im, so when de M.P. come along and says, ‘Put out dat light,’ one of de boys says, ‘Come in here, and we’ll put yo’n out.’ Dey wuz two of the M.P.’s and dey kicked de do’ in and started shootin’, and somebody knocked de light over and we run. Dey foun’ one of de M.P.’s de nex’ mawnin’ widout nothin’ to hole his collar on, and two of de boys wuz daid, too. But dey couldn’t fin’ who de res’ of us wuz. And den we come home.”
Caspey emptied his cup. “I don’t take no thin’ offen no white man no mo’, lootenant ner captain ner M.P. War showed de white folks dey can’t git along widout de cullud man. Tromple him in de dus’, but when de trouble bust loose, hit’s ‘Please, suh, Mr. Cullud Man; right dis way whar de bugle blowin’, Mr. Cullud Man; you is de savior of de country.’ And now de cullud race gwine reap de benefits of de war, and dat soon.”
“Sho,” murmured Simon.
“Yes, suh. And de women, too. I got my white in France, and I’m gwine git it here, too.”
“Lemme tell you somethin’, nigger,” Simon said. “De good Lawd done took keer of you fer a long time, now, but He ain’t gwine bother wid you always.”
“Den I reckon I’ll git along widout Him,” Caspey retorted. He rose and stretched. “Reckon I’ll go down to de big road and ketch a ride to town. Gimme dem clothes, Isom.”
Miss Jenny and her guest stood on the veranda when he passed along beside the house and crossed toward the drive.
“There goes your gardener,” Narcissa said. Miss Jenny looked.
“That’s Caspey,” she corrected. “Now, where do you reckon he’s headed? Town, I’ll bet a dollar,” she added, watching his lounging khaki back, by means of which he contrived to disseminate in some, way a sort of lazy insolence. “You, Caspey!” she called.
He slowed in passing Narcissa’s small car and examined it with a disparagement too lazy to sneer even, then he slouched on.
“You, Caspey!” Miss Jenny repeated, raising her voice. But he went steadily on down the drive, insolent and slouching and unhurried. “He heard me,” she said ominously. “We’ll see about this when he comes back. Who was the fool anyway, who thought of putting niggers into the same uniform with white men? Mr. Vardaman knew better; he told those fools at Washington at the time it wouldn’t do.
But politicians!” She invested the innocent word with an utter and blasting derogation. “If I ever get tired of associating with gentlefolks, I know what I’ll do: I’ll run for Congress. . . . Listen at me!—tiradin’ again. I declare, at times I believe these Sartorises and all their possessions just set out to plague and worry me. Thank the Lord, I won’t have to associate with ’em after I’m dead. I don’t know where they’ll be, but no Sartoris is going to stay in heaven any longer than he can help.”
The other laughed. “You seem very sure of your own destination, Miss Jenny.”
“Why shouldn’t I be? Haven’t I been laying up crowns and harps for a long time?” She shaded her eyes with her hand and gazed down the drive. Caspey had reached the gate and he now stood beside the road, waiting for a wagon to pass. “Don’t you stop for him, you hear?” she said suddenly. . . . “Why won’t you stay for dinner?”
“No,” the other answered, “I must get on home. Aunt Sally’s not well today.” She stood for a moment in the sunlight, her hat and her basket of flowers on her arm, musing. Then with a sudden decision she drew a folded paper from the front of her dress.
“Got another one, did you?” Miss Jenny asked, watching her. “Lemme see it.” She took the paper and opened it and stepped back out of the sun. Her nose glasses hung on a slender silk cord that rolled on to
