Hector, son of Africa—

stolen from his father’s hut,

sold on the auction block!

Hector was a slave in the fields

until Miss Amalia took him up

to the house. He followed her

like her own right shoe.

When she felt faint,

he brought her iced lemon water;

when she started to show,

he helped her up the stairs;

when the baby kicked,

he soothed her.

But when her time came

he had to stand out by the porch

like the rest of us.

And when Ticey brought the news

Hector fell to his knees

and ate dirt like a worm.

Now he lives alone

and catches snakes in the swamp.

Black woman, black man—

both were twisted

when the curse came over the hill.

While the slave turned to grief,

the master turned to business.

Miss Amalia hiked up her skirts

and pulled on man’s boots.

And Massa Louis . . . Massa Louis

took off his riding breeches—

—and shut himself upstairs.

Some nights you can see him out

on the balcony, staring at the sky:

he has machines to measure the stars.

Black woman, black man;

white woman, white man!

Four people touched by the curse:

but the curse is not complete.

Did you have to tell her so much,

Scylla? She’s just a child.

She’s old enough to know,

and you’re old enough to know better.

I was there, too. I didn’t see

no horses comin’ over the hill.

You just crumpled up like a leaf.

I can strike you down like lightning,

Phebe. I can send demons mightier—

How—how de do, Miss Amalia!

We was just trying to figure out

what to do with Diana here.

She seems healthy enough to me—

good stock, young and fresh.

She fell out something awful.

It don’t look like she feel too good—

You aren’t here to play doctor, Phebe.

Where is that Jones? Jones!

Lazy pack! I swear I’ve seen cows

smarter than you! Jones!

Get these niggers in line!

Drink on your own time.

I’ll see you this evening

up at the house.

Goddamn niggers, gotta watch you

every second! Get that gal back on her feet!