Old Josh, in: Volcanic Times [1872] Episode: #18
Old Josh, in: Volcanic Times [1872] Episode: #18
Part One: the Corral
“Git awy, wite folk,” old Josh mumbled aloud, seeing Mr. Hightower the plantation owner, his boss, coming near the corral as the horse pulled the old Negro around in circles like a rag doll.
The horse snorted like a train in high gear but Josh hung onto his bridle [harness] at the horse’s head, trying to restrain him.
“Let him be,” said Mr. Hightower.
“Wht dhis hoss?” said old Josh.
“You let that horse alone old man, he’ll kill yaw!” Old Josh just laughed.
“I recken so,” he mumbled under his breath, as the horse kept a glaring eye on him below its head, perhaps a quick calculation of how long the old Negro would last, and perhaps it was a gesture by the horse that the old man wasn’t giving him a lick of trouble that was worth much, so let’s have some fun. Then the horse lifted his head (as Hightower repeated his warning to let the horse go), the horse now irritated, snorting, rose his head up higher, lifting the old man to his toes as he hung on as if he was holding the head of a snake, falling now and then against the leg of the horse (as Hightower now started to climb over the fence, fearing the horse would run wild throughout the fields, should he open the gate)) old Josh was mad, stubborn, like the horse, thought Hightower)).
“Eyes wants to rid des hoss,” said Josh in a demanding way.
“We’ll see about it tomorrow,” said Mr. Hightower rejoined (in a passive tone).
The horse now eluded Josh’s two hands, and old Josh fell back, but dodged the hooves of the stomping horse, unbroken, and newly purchased by Mr. Hightower.
The horse now was running in circles with a gleaming tongue as Josh tried to grab the rope that hung loosely from his head to the ground, unsuccessfully; but then Josh leaped, grabbing onto the rope, as the horse passed by him again; the horse now found his weight easy as pie to drag, and thus, dragged him in the mud around the cage like a rat. Then suddenly both man and beast stopped, both vacillating, the horse lowered its head, and before the horse lifted it again, Hightower grabbed Josh by the back of his belt, pulled him free of the horse, as the horse burst out upwards on his two hind legs.
(Nearby, there were a few neighboring onlookers, a few youths walking down the dirt road out in front of the Hightower Plantation. They stopped to catch a glimpse, but dared not enter Hightower’s premises, lest he scorn them. The Pandemonium stopped as Josh was now on the other side of the fence.
Part Two: The Hut
Down the lane, behind old Josh’s hut, Silas, his son was running, having heard there was some commotion with his father in the corral. The horse, when Silas appeared in front of the Carrel, was still running wild trying to break through the gate. The folks that were on the street watching had faded into the distance.
“U mad, papa,” said Silas huffing and puffing as he now saw Josh was fine, Mr. Hightower looking over him, Josh had not gotten up onto his feet yet, he was so tired he was leaning on his elbow in the dirt. Not sure what was going on in Hightower’s mind, as he stood looking at the horse, and Silas and then back to Josh, perhaps how in the world did he find all that energy to fight the young mount. But he said, with an astonishing look,
“Wish you’d use all that much energy around the plantation fixing things, instead of having Silas do it all,” (saying it in a colorful way).
Part Three: Henry Jackson Birmingham
It was getting later into the afternoon, and beyond a patch of woods, where the cotton fields were, Silas now took a long look towards, his brim of his hat he pushed upwards to get a better look I assume.
“Yo’ head ok boy?” said Josh to his son.
“T’ant long wes got to harvest,” added “I sees the new owner of da house, Henry Jackson Berham, I hears his name be…”
“Ya, he’s like us, wheres dhe negger finds all dat money to buys dhe hose, he kils da white man maybe, haw?” said old Josh, with a jealous tone to his son.
“Hes yung pa, inherat da money I dink, yo knows, from a uncle he die…”
“Oh…!” said Josh, catching his breath, holding out his hand so his son can help him up.
Note: Written at El Parquetito, Lima, Peru, 7/31/2006
Part One: the Corral
“Git awy, wite folk,” old Josh mumbled aloud, seeing Mr. Hightower the plantation owner, his boss, coming near the corral as the horse pulled the old Negro around in circles like a rag doll.
The horse snorted like a train in high gear but Josh hung onto his bridle [harness] at the horse’s head, trying to restrain him.
“Let him be,” said Mr. Hightower.
“Wht dhis hoss?” said old Josh.
“You let that horse alone old man, he’ll kill yaw!” Old Josh just laughed.
“I recken so,” he mumbled under his breath, as the horse kept a glaring eye on him below its head, perhaps a quick calculation of how long the old Negro would last, and perhaps it was a gesture by the horse that the old man wasn’t giving him a lick of trouble that was worth much, so let’s have some fun. Then the horse lifted his head (as Hightower repeated his warning to let the horse go), the horse now irritated, snorting, rose his head up higher, lifting the old man to his toes as he hung on as if he was holding the head of a snake, falling now and then against the leg of the horse (as Hightower now started to climb over the fence, fearing the horse would run wild throughout the fields, should he open the gate)) old Josh was mad, stubborn, like the horse, thought Hightower)).
“Eyes wants to rid des hoss,” said Josh in a demanding way.
“We’ll see about it tomorrow,” said Mr. Hightower rejoined (in a passive tone).
The horse now eluded Josh’s two hands, and old Josh fell back, but dodged the hooves of the stomping horse, unbroken, and newly purchased by Mr. Hightower.
The horse now was running in circles with a gleaming tongue as Josh tried to grab the rope that hung loosely from his head to the ground, unsuccessfully; but then Josh leaped, grabbing onto the rope, as the horse passed by him again; the horse now found his weight easy as pie to drag, and thus, dragged him in the mud around the cage like a rat. Then suddenly both man and beast stopped, both vacillating, the horse lowered its head, and before the horse lifted it again, Hightower grabbed Josh by the back of his belt, pulled him free of the horse, as the horse burst out upwards on his two hind legs.
(Nearby, there were a few neighboring onlookers, a few youths walking down the dirt road out in front of the Hightower Plantation. They stopped to catch a glimpse, but dared not enter Hightower’s premises, lest he scorn them. The Pandemonium stopped as Josh was now on the other side of the fence.
Part Two: The Hut
Down the lane, behind old Josh’s hut, Silas, his son was running, having heard there was some commotion with his father in the corral. The horse, when Silas appeared in front of the Carrel, was still running wild trying to break through the gate. The folks that were on the street watching had faded into the distance.
“U mad, papa,” said Silas huffing and puffing as he now saw Josh was fine, Mr. Hightower looking over him, Josh had not gotten up onto his feet yet, he was so tired he was leaning on his elbow in the dirt. Not sure what was going on in Hightower’s mind, as he stood looking at the horse, and Silas and then back to Josh, perhaps how in the world did he find all that energy to fight the young mount. But he said, with an astonishing look,
“Wish you’d use all that much energy around the plantation fixing things, instead of having Silas do it all,” (saying it in a colorful way).
Part Three: Henry Jackson Birmingham
It was getting later into the afternoon, and beyond a patch of woods, where the cotton fields were, Silas now took a long look towards, his brim of his hat he pushed upwards to get a better look I assume.
“Yo’ head ok boy?” said Josh to his son.
“T’ant long wes got to harvest,” added “I sees the new owner of da house, Henry Jackson Berham, I hears his name be…”
“Ya, he’s like us, wheres dhe negger finds all dat money to buys dhe hose, he kils da white man maybe, haw?” said old Josh, with a jealous tone to his son.
“Hes yung pa, inherat da money I dink, yo knows, from a uncle he die…”
“Oh…!” said Josh, catching his breath, holding out his hand so his son can help him up.
Note: Written at El Parquetito, Lima, Peru, 7/31/2006
posted by Dennis and Rosa Siluk at 9:51 PM
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