Read The Emancipation of Robert Sadler for Free Online Page A

boy?” Mrs. Zeke asked pleasantly.
    I took a breath and said, “Uh—uh—uh c-c-c-orn meal, Ma’am.” She smiled at me and I was delighted with myself. I had spoken again! I had formed good words! The sensation that my mouth was filled with sand was still there, but I had spoken, I had really spoken! I grinned broadly.
    I danced all the way through the field to the creek.
    â€œC-c-c-orn meal, Ma’am! Corn m-meal, Ma’am!” I sang.
    I stopped and looked for frogs along the creek banks, but I could find none. Finally, in the early afternoon I arrived back at our shanty. Only Rosie was at home. I looked around for Pearl. I searched the cabin, the yard, and then I saw that the buggy and the mule were gone. Fear crowded my head. I ran screaming inside to Rosie. My mouth wouldn’t form any recognizable sounds. “Peh! Peh! Ahhhhh! Ahhhhhh!” Rosie didn’t even look at me. Her face was cold and smug.
    Panicked, I ran as fast as I could up to the main road and looked in both directions. No sign of the wagon. “Pehhhhhh!!”
    Father did not return that night and neither did Pearl. I slept beside the door shivering and crying all night. When I awoke in the early grey morning it was raining. I heard the sound of the mule sloshing in the mud and I ran outside. The smell of whiskey was strong, and Father was alone in the wagon. “Peh! Peh!” I wailed.
    Father ignored me and slid down from the wagon into the mud. He walked right past me. I grabbed his trouser leg, wailing unintelligible sounds. He shook me off with a drunken snort and went inside the cabin. I didn’t dare go inside. My thin shirt was soon soaked through to my skin, and I shook with cold. I knew that Father had sold Pearl again, and the life and hope drained out of me like the rain as it dripped down my face and fell to the wet mud at my feet.
    My loneliness in the next days was as strong as my hunger. I was so hungry most of the time that I ate grass and once even tried eating dirt. Mostly, I lived on the peanuts my father was growing. He didn’t know that I was eating them, half-grown, still green and all.
    One day in early October Father called me.
    â€œGit into the wagon, boy!”
    My heart began to beat faster, but I knew it would be useless to ask him where we were going. The road was dry and dusty and we bumped along, not speaking. This time I rode on the seat next to him in the front of the wagon. I felt a slight tinge of excitement, but fear had become so much a part of me that I sat trembling on the edge of the seat.
    We entered Anderson and turned west on the main road. After about a half hour we came to a crossroad and turned south. The farms were large and I looked in wonder at the immense cotton fields. There were many Negroes working in the fields and around the big barns. I tried not to think about where we might be headed and why.
    Soon another farm came into view on the west side of the road. It made the Billings Plantation look small by comparison. We pulled into the curved driveway, and I was awed by the grandeur of the house. The sloping yard was well-kept and groomed. Flowers grew in artistic groupings and tall cottonwood trees lined the driveway. This was the Sam Beal Plantation, my prison and my home for the next eight years.
    Father whoa’ed the mule and sat silent, waiting. In a few minutes I heard a door slam and footsteps come running around the side of the house. Pearl! She stood barefoot, wearing the same dress she had on when I had last seen her. She wore a muslin apron over it. She was very angry.
    â€œYou wicked man! You bringing this chile to this evil place? You is jes plain evil and wicked!”
    Father ignored her. He jerked his head, indicating for me to get out of the wagon. I did so quietly and stood beside it. But Pearl continued.
    â€œHow can you sell my mama’s baby like this! He a dumb chile!”
    Father curled his lip. “Hush you