The Spirituals

They sang as they worked, and he sat at his desk, angry. The Georgia air wasn’t moving and the heat sank into his skin. About noon, one of them came to the open window, covered with sweat and red dust, and knocked.

            He shouted, “What is it?”

            The man said, “Suh, we’s wonderin’ if you wantin’ tha graves facin’ uh partic’lur way.”

            He lost his head and threw a paperweight from his desk at the slave, hitting him on the forehead. The slave shouted, then retreated to the field, muttering.

            He pounded his desk and the slaves’ spirituals entered him.