A Night at the Cabin-Chapter 1

         "Come in, Harold."
         Harold walked slowly into the workspace of his master, unsure of the reason for his being there. He hadn't done something wrong (at least, nothing he thought he could be caught for), and he had never been called to see his master directly. As he walked around, he looked in slight awe at his surroundings; the furnished armchairs, the gleaming desk behind which his master sat in a chair of dark satin that seemed to absorb all of the attention in the room, which only made the rest of the room try harder to be noticed, only to have that attention be taken away. This cycle went on and on so far that Harold soon couldn't tell up from down or left from right, and was in this state of complete confusion until his master spoke to him again.
         "Sit down, Harold," his master said, gesturing with his hand for Harold to take a seat on one of his master's many comfortable, luxurious chairs.
         Harold took a seat, still feeling queasy from the sheer grandeur of the room.
         After letting the air in the room be still for what seemed like a lifetime, Harold finally asked, "Excuse me, but why--"
         "I'm sorry. What was that?" His master sounded calm, but Harold picked up a certain intonation that he had heard before. It had been when his master took Jimmy, the only other slave on the plantation who was close to Harold's age. Jimmy, 11, was two years Harold's elder, and seldom let him forget. In fact, Harold recalled, that was exactly why Jimmy was whipped. It was a calm fall day, and Jimmy had been taunting Harold with the despairing thought of making Harold do more work than usual. Jimmy had been saying, "I think it's high time you started to be your own ox, Harold--be your own ox, I said," when suddenly a quiet had fallen, and Jimmy's voice rang out over the cotton fields like a single orchestral hit from a brass section.
         Harold didn't have any idea what Jimmy meant by that (Jimmy often spouted random sayings he had heard the older men talk about after supper but never quite seemed to fit into the conversation Harold and Jimmy were having), but he knew right away that it wasn't important when suddenly Jimmy froze, hearing only his words of wisdom against the slight breeze that had started to pick up over the fields.
         There was a silence; then a large, booming noise that sounded like a cow hitting the ground from 20 feet in the air, and Harold could hear quite clearly what was being said: "WHICH OF YOU NIGGERS DECIDED TO SPEAK WITHOUT HAVING BEEN SPAKE TO?"
         Jimmy turned pale as a ghost, turned to Harold, and could only mouth the words "God help us all" before their master came over, black, streaming whip in hand.
         "Well?" Their master demanded, patience wearing thinner than normal.
         After a few moments of silence, Jimmy stepped forwards. "I-I-I-It was me."
         Their master didn't speak for a few seconds, and Jimmy tried to step in. "You see, it was all just a misunderstanding, Harold and I were just discussing-
         "Excuse me? Care to repeat yourself?" Their master interrupted with that same intonation, calm as an ethereal pool of water while at the same time being as menacing as the darkest depths of Hell itself.
         Jimmy looked puzzled. "What do you mean?" He asked, genuinely confused.
         Their master then took no time to haul Jimmy off by the ear over to the punishing cabin, a place where every slave went at least once in his life for some heinous crime.
         Harold hadn't gotten much sleep that night, and from the screaming coming the whole night from the punishing cabin, he gathered that Jimmy hadn't, either. In fact, he didn't see Jimmy for the next week, or the next, or the next. It was only when the last snowfall's final snowflake melted that Harold saw Jimmy again, but he could hardly recognize him. Jimmy was thouroughly changed, even in his facial appearance. Something about him was definitely different. No longer was the Jimmy Harold had once known standing beside him. This Jimmy was different, and Harold was scared until Jimmy put his hand on Harold's shoulder, and said, "Don't you worry about me, Harold? Do you remember what I told you that day when he came for me? I told you that it was high time for you to be your own ox. Well, Harold, I think I finally know what I meant when I said that. I think I finally know..."
         Jimmy seemed aloof for the next week or two, never concentrated on anything real, just barely getting by with his workload. Harold was genuinely worried about him until one day Jimmy seemed normal again. They had even gotten some free time and went to the little pond at the edge of the fields and stayed there until lights out. That had been the best day of Harold's life, and he wondered if they could do that everyday until they died. That would make Harold a happy slave.
         The adults found Jimmy's body hanging from the top of the loft in the barn, the noose tied in such a way that cutting the rope itself would be much easier than trying to untie it.
         There had been no funeral for Jimmy. No people dressed in black came to his cabin and wept as they did for the mother of Harold's master when she had passed. The only thing Harold could do was promise to never return to that pond, leaving it a sacred spot for Jimmy's memory to live on.
         Now, as he sat facing the question posed by his master, he understood what his master was asking. He quickly added "Sir" to his sentence, and his master suddenly relaxed.
         "So you were saying...?" his master asked, that tone of voice lost for the moment (but not entirely forgotten).
         "Uh, well, sir, I was wondering exactly why you called me in here, sir. I didn't do nothing wrong, sir, I swear I didn't, sir," Harold said, the words tumbling out of his mouth in the fashion of a clumsy racehorse.
         "Harold, don't worry," his master chuckled. "You're doing just fine."
         Harold had never been more worried in his life. "Well, sir, thank you, sir, but I just wanted to-sir-oh!-ask what it was I was doing here, sir."
         His master looked thoughtful. "That's a good question, Harold. What are you doing here?"
         Harold looked up from staring intently at the black box that housed the letter paper on his master's desk. "S-sir?"
         His master took a moment, and then said, "You see, Harold, word has gotten around that there's been some nigger running his mouth about talks of "freedom" and "equality". Ain't that funny?"
         Harold said quickly, "Oh yes, sir. Very funny indeed. I might've popped a blood vessel, sir."
         His master's demeanor changed into a manner more like the former expression he had held. "Are you listening to me, Harold? Because if you aren't, I'd have to assume you'd be listening to him, and we don't want that happening, do we, boy?"
         Harold looked bewildered. "But sir, I-I ain't never gonna listen to some no-good nigger trying to speak witchcraft on me-"
         "So you are listening to me?" his master asked.
         "Of course, sir," Harold answered, almost seeming offended that his loyalty had been questioned. This amused his master, who told him,"So, Harold, since you aren't listening to that no-good nigger, and I ain't listening to that no-good nigger, do you think we could strike a bargain of sorts?"
         At this, Harold's ears peaked. "Bargain, sir?"
         HIs master, thoughts almost visibly swimming around in his head, said, "Yes, Harold. A bargain. If you hear someone else talking about that no-good nigger and that person seems to agree with him, you come talk to me about it, and in return, I'll see what I can do about that food ration of yours."
         "Yes, sir," Harold said, relieved that he wasn't, in fact, in trouble. "Can I go then, sir?"
         "Yes, you can go, boy," his master said. "Just remember our bargain."
         Harold hopped up out of the chair and walked over to the door, pleased with his new benefit.
         "And Harold? One last thing?" His master paused. "It'd be best not to tell anyone about this deal, seeing as they might get jealous. Okay, boy. Go now."
         With this, Harold left, all thoughts out of his head besides being determined not to share his new, extra food with anyone else.