exception of Mr. Carmichael. So when people talked about Negroes being
simple-minded, lazy, and child-like, she silently rolled her eyes. But there was one thing she couldn’t argue with – colored people sure did look different. She
suddenly noticed Mourning watching the way she was staring at their hands and
pulled hers away.
“It ain’t gonna rub off,” he said with a sneer.
“I wasn’t worried it would and you can please stop looking at me like that.”
“You think you different from other white folks, but you ain’t. You all the same. Think the world belong just to you.”
She turned to look him in the face. “I don’t think I’m better than you and I don’t think I’ve ever acted like I do.” She had begun speaking angrily, but her voice grew softer. “You’ve got to admit, though, we sure do look different.” She
put her hand back on the rail next to his, their forearms touching. “Just look at
that.”
His face relented into a grin.
“I’ll tell you one thing,” she ventured, cringing in anticipation of an angry response. “I can understand why the first white men who set foot in Africa
thought those natives must be something way different from them.”
“It ain’t but skin.”
“Well, I know that. But just imagine a person who’d never seen black skin or hair like yours before. It sure would seem strange. What if we get off this boat in
Michigan and everyone we see is covered with a coat of fur, like a dog, or bark,
like a tree? You’ve got to admit, that would take some getting used to. And I bet
those first white folks looked just as strange to the Africans that saw them.
Maybe those natives would have treated the whites just as badly, if they’d been
the ones holding the guns.”
Mourning stared out at the shoreline, his face relaxed and expressionless.
“But there’s one thing I won’t argue with.” She lightly nudged his elbow with
hers and he glanced over at her. “White folks have sure had enough time to get
used to the way colored people look. You’d think by now they’d have stopped saying all the stupid things they do.”
They stood together, silently watching Erie grow smaller. The sun was still
warm, but the breeze off the lake was cool on their faces. The boat didn’t go far
out, so the wild green shoreline remained in sight. They were still standing at the
rail when the sun set over the water ahead of them. They stood on their tiptoes
and stuck their heads out to admire its last blaze of color. Then they both slid down to sit on the deck, backs against the side of the ship.
“You look like a flower growin’ out a one of them lily pads,” Mourning said,
nodding at the way Olivia’s skirts billowed around her torso.
“A wilted one. And starving again. Can you reach the food?” she asked
Mourning took out his knife to slice the crusty bread and stopped making fun
of her for having bought two whole loaves. They were both famished. He drank
from one of the skins of water and passed it to her. Olivia was conscious of waiting until she thought none of the white passengers milling around the deck
were looking before she lifted it to her lips to drink.
No reason to antagonize people, she thought, still harboring a fear of being ordered into the white section.
Apart from that worry she felt relaxed and at peace, sitting next to Mourning
and sharing a meal. Part of her regretted that the trip would take only two days.
It was a luxury to be nowhere, no one around who knew her, with nothing to do