Ice Nelson Johns.

Ice, Nelson Johns, and Ice knows dis-here shadowy road just as sure as Ice knows me ol' bones is bloomin-a 'ritis. Ice knows each bump, each jutin boulder and crack; each spot as smooth as the bess chris'll in Massa's parlour. Ice knows it.

Ice should knows.

Ice been walkin over dis-here, leafy-light road for neigh on 80--years now. Been drivin' o'er it too, in da big carriage, tinkin' and contemplatin' it. Every little bump, every little crack on dis here roads, I knows it.

Why Ice must-a been ten years old when Ol' Massa Johns took me into da big house. Dats hows I gots to drive da big carriage ober it. Ice was spose ta be company for Young Massa Johns. Dats hows Ice gots to run da big carriage ober it.

We was just be playmates at first and we fish and kotched frogs and bugs like. Yep. Me and Young Massa growed up togedder, but dat a long time ago. Ol' Massa Johns pass away, and now, young Massa Johns is de Ol' Massa Johns, and we stopped playin when he become the Ol' Massa.

Way back when young Massa step outta he's short pants and into he's long breeches. Ice 'member when Young Massa Johns went away ta school--all de ways ta Boston he did!--and he took me wif em he did! Ol' Massa insist I goes to Harvard wif em. I n'er seen snow 'fore. I keep his clothes clean and polish his saddle and make sure his steed stabled and all.

Now, dose, now, I neighin' seventy and me hands are a bundle-a 'ritis knots, and me back is stoopin'.

Some years ago, Massa say I 'tired and don't have ta do no work no mo'. Massa say I always have a home dere on Twin Oaks. Massa say I a Johns nigger. He say he wish he could find another nigger like me and dats why I walkin de road to Twin Oaks dis mornin'--even 'fore the cock crows--cause I bees free to comes and goes.

All de niggers in the quarter be yellin', "Da Jubilee be comin'! Dere be Jubilee!" And dey all fetchin' all dey can carry and runnin' up de road. Ice don'ts know whats all de 'motion bout, but last night, seem far offs, I hears de Yankee cannon; de cries of de deaf and de dyin'.

Dis dere Jubilee. Sweet Jubilee ... I seen Jemney and his womens Belle last night. Dey be stealin' ways to dere Jubilee and they askin' me to goes wif 'em. I tells 'em I be too old, too old to be runnin' wif 'em; me 'ritis and all.

"Ain't I gots to be usin' dis hickory staff ta walks?" I says.

Dey don't listen. Dey runs off, and Ice 'side ta follows dem at me own speed and study. I follow dem over to da Stanish place and sees for meself.

Dem Yankees be dere and all niggers be lined up. No sign of Massa and Mistress Stanish. Just dem Yankess askin' questions, scribblin' in dere books and all. But now, Ice comes back. Ice on de road to Massa Johns Plantation; Twin Oaks, cause my Jubilee be here.

Ice wants to be buried out behind Massa Johns' backbarn, in da nigger cemetery, dats where I find my Jubilee. I lays next to my Ella, in da nigger cemetery.

Den, me tinks, sposin' dem Yankees run roughshod over da nigger cemetery? Spose dey spike dere horses and make toilet on Ella's grave? Sposin' they vile and cruel like most white folks be down here?--and dey all treats niggers worse den dere cattle down here--all-a dem! ...

... all-a dem ...

Dat is, ceptin' Massa Johns. Now, doe, even he, Massa Johns, become ruffian and neighin' dis Jubilee. He don'ts talk--da whip be he's tongue and da niggers in de quarter be fixin' to be uprisin'.

Dey hears, far offs, "When Johnny Comes Marchin' Home"--dat ol' Yankee song--and dey cheers. Dis dere Jubilee. Well dis Jubilee ain't like de ol' days oh, no. Not when a nigger was beholdin' to his Massa. And de Yankees--up on de Stanish place be askin' me last night if'n I be stayin' wif 'em. I say, "No. Ice Massa Johns' nigger. Ice 'longs to de Johns Plantation, and dats where Ice gonna die. Dis Jubilee be no good. No good tall."

Dem Yankees, dey laughs.

Even Massa O'Donnell--he be de overseer--even he bolt, and he took Neptuneis high-yella gal off wif 'em too. Then ag'in, she be so high-yella, all da white mens be droolin' over dem swayin' morsels. And niggers, dey be clutchin' all dere is ta carry--and fadin' off, into the night-fogs. Dey runnin' straight and true for dere Jubilee and da Yankee.

Massa Johns, he just sit in de parlour in de big house, he's mind boggled in corn whiskey-dream. Missy Bethy, why she be needin' a potion. She cryin' to hersell, she stalk to and fro--moanin' and cryin'. She cry right silent-like. Den she up and bolt: "Know what those Yankees do to self-respectin' southern ladies, Jonathon? Oh John, oh John, oh John," she plea, "what are we going to do? The plantation--they'll burn Twin Oaks. They'll violate me and the girls. They'll slit your throat."

Massa just moan and gives 'er crazy look.

Yesterday, doe, some high-fallutin' Yankee soldier on a great, dapplin' hoss wif its mane wiffin and woffin', come trottin' up de road just plain as a peddler. A shiny saber be glintin' and winkin' on he's hip. He and Massa resort to the library. Whens he left, Massa come runnin'-drunk into the quarter, whip splashin' ag'in. He now talk as little as possible--he's tongue dat whip I tells ya--and he says he needs de wagons loaded wif all de pictures and all de silverwares and all de valuables like. And he say he needs de big brougham. Den, when all is said and done, he put Missy Bethy and the two girls in de big brougham and off dey all goes--da big brougham, six field niggers and tree wagons off to wheres-I-don't-figure.

I knows dey be tree--cause Massa Johns totched me to count when he be de young Massa up in Boston. He say neber to tells nobody. Neber. But I knows dere be six field hands. I counts 'em like Ol' Young Massa Johns torched me. And dere was so much cryin' and fussin' and goin's on--the girls clingin' to Massa Johns legs so, dat de field niggers hadda lift "em all into da big brougham. Massa asked me, "You going with them, boy?"

"No, Massa," Ice says. "Ice be stayin' at Twin Oaks. Twin Oaks be my home."

Den Massa start cryin' funny-like. He hug me, den run into de big house and slams de door.

Last night ... oh, last night, like I says--I seen Jimney and his gal stealin' aways. Dey said, "Come wif us, Uncle Nelly, come. We go to da land-a freedom. Da Yankee-man come. He be up on the ol' Stanish place. Jubilee!"

I just grins at 'em. I too ol' to be up'n de roads. Too olds to keeps up wif 'em.

No. I be buried out behind Massa Johns' back-barn in the nigger cemetery. Ice--just like de rest--is gonna lay he's head in peace too. My freedom wif God. Restin'--near my Ella. Causin' my Jubilee be here on de Twin Oaks Plantation--the largest in de Browin' County. Ice born a Johns' nigger, of Twin Oaks dirt. Lemme die a Johns' nigger, buried in da dirt-a Twin Oaks.

Me hands feels like dey in da fires of de Smithey; me back like da coals. Dis 'ritis actin' up. Ice should-a known wif all dis mist and all in de air; should-a known it be a 'ritis day.

Tink I'll sit right over dere, under de Pecan tree and next to Luke's Stump.

Da groun', it damp and dewy.

I 'member when dey hung Luke from dis tree. Well it used ta be a tree, a tall, knotty, ol' Oak. Dat is, till niggers gots ta fixin' to cut it down.

I ... I was a pickaninny really, and dey hung Luke from dis Oak. Luke was always boltin' and Massa says he gots ta show da niggers dats not toleratin' or sumpin' like dat. We loved Luke doe.

He was all da times smilin' and all de times bringin' cane to us pickininny's. Always. But he bolt too many times, and dey kotched 'em. Ol' Massa--lce never knowed 'em to be like dat--had Luke stretched from dis tree, dis same Oak. Dere was such misery and cryin' in the quarter. Made us all watch it die, he did.

Den, bout a year later, niggers say dis Oak full-a rot. It be spreading' to de other trees too, and dey tell Massa O'Donnell and tell Ol' Massa Johns and Ol'Massa Johns have it cut down. Dey never knowed how, late at night, we climbed dat tree wif our cane knives and strip it-a life; white folks never knowed. We wanted dat tree cut down. I used ta hear the old ones talk--niggers never goes near it. They say it full-a Luke's heart. They say it full-a freedom's spirit. Dey say everytime dey pass da tree--dey hears and somehows sees Luke. Late at night, dey say, Luke's ghost be up in dat tree, dey say.

Oh lets me wonder, Lawd, lets me roam. Ice ol' enough to deserves it--but--I be so tired. Why Ice so tired and wanna be closin' me eyes?-- cause I old?

Maybe it 'cause Luke's spirit restin' here. Next to dis stump,

wif me. No ways to kotch me breaf. Ice rises as da sound comes at me, Ice needs to gits me bearin's. It sound pitter-pats in the twiss in the road, comin' from Twin Oaks. Dat means Massa Johns sends a nigger wif a note; but who it be? Who?

Dey in a hurry. "Uncle Nelly? Uncle Nelly?" Ice needs to gets me bearin's--me eyes be feeble. " Who dat?" Ice says.

"Me, Uncle Nelly--Lil' Willie."

Ice study he's sound; it Lil' Willie alright. He Jammay's boy. A scrawny little pickaninny, but me tink he also Massa Johns" boy too.

"Lil' Willie?" I says. "We fittin' to leave, Uncle Nelly." "Leave?" "Massa Johns--he come in de huts and say we free. Mammy say: 'Go fetch Uncle Nelly--go fetch Uncle Nelly!'--and Ice bees runnin' and lookin' and yellin' and seekin' and--"

"Come 'ere, Willie," Ice say. cause doe my eyes dim, Ice could see 'em cryin'. He drag o'er to me, starin' at the groun' and Ice

Ice lifts he's head in boaf my hands and peers at "em.

"Willie?" Ice says.

"Uncle Nelly ... we bees free. Dats what Mammy say-we's free."

"You tell your Mammy dat Uncle Nelly be stayin' at Twin Oaks, ya hear? Ice a Johns."

"Uncle Nelly ..."

I hugs 'em and say, "You kotch up now. Kotch up to yer Mammy."

He whimper and cry, "Uncle Nelly..."

"Ice Nelson Johns. Johns' always bees on de Twin Oaks Plantation--you tells yet Mammy dat."

"No, Uncle Nelly..." he dragged out. "Uncle Nelly, Mammy says ya gots to come wif us."

   "No."
   He cries, sumpin terrible-like," UNCLE NELLY!"
   "Come-'ere Willy," Ice says. Ice hugs him.
   "No-oh-oh-oh-oh-oh ..." he sob.

"Now gits--GITS! Gits fer I take a hickory switch to ya. Git!"

And he dart, cryin', little bare feet slappin' g' in de groun and roun' de twiss to Twin Oaks and he's Mammy.

Dey all be like me families, and Ice like to say sumpin to dem all, but Ice too feeble and tired. Ice rest a while. Ice sleep... I wonders ... I dreams ... under de potion ... a Luke's Stump ...

When Ice wakes. Twin Oaks be like de dregs of the debil he-sell. De groun's, de trees, de air--all be gulpin and chokin smoke. I gits up as fast as I kin wif me 'ritis and hobbles to de nigger quarter.

All de niggers gone. Gone. Not a hoss in de barn, not a nigger in de quarter; de place be so still-like. It be like a church and a hell at da same time. It be smokey, chokin'. I goes to de Smithey, where Jeremiah do his bizness, but Jeremiah ain't dere.

Nobody dere. "Jeremiah!?" I calls. "Jeremiah!?"

It just echo in de vasty. Hammers, hooks and Jeremiah's gloves all be scattered, like dey just drop em and run. Even de manure smell ol'.

Me 'ritis trobbin-bad. But--losin' my breaf--Ice keeps on and goes down by da riber. Da womens usual be soapin' and cleanin' here, but dere ain't no niggers or whitefolks roun' here. Ice can't tink but me mine be so cluttered; I can't see, but de airbe so clear by de riber.

Way o'er de udder side be de Stanish place. Dat Ransome place almost big as Twin Oaks, and the Ransome niggers and the Johns niggers always be tussin' and pushin'. Even Massa say de Stanishes be "upstarts"--whate'er dat mean. And I let me eyes clear. I kin see de Stanish place, it be rip-roarin' in flames.

Dere's fire at de Ransome place. Fire at Twin Oaks!

"Fire, fire!" I yells. "Fire at de Ransome place!" I says it 'fore I knows dere nobody here. Nobody to russel up de hosses and wagons and go help da Stanishes. Nobody ta help us Johns.

Ice juss be at de Stanish place last night. Dem Yankess was dere. Dey was writin' and askin' and pokin' and proddin'. Dem Yankees must-a left. Nobody now, cross-riber.

Dem Yankees left--niggers followin' dem norse--and dey burn every-ting behind 'em. Da Stanish big house, de pillars comes crashin' down and de flames lappin' up like hound-dog tongues. But dere's some mens dere. Dey sittin' on hosses. Dey starin' from dere saddles. Dere bosses necks strainin' down fer hay. Dem white mens. Dey just starin' and watchin' one of de great big houses crash to de groun'.

Dem Yankees.
Me "ritis knees gits weak, I crumbles to de groun.
Dem Yankees.

Ice tinks dere Jubilee be like me 'ritis--de 'ritis of de debil.

A shadow--it come o'er me face and me eyes springs open.

Massa--swiggin' a jug a corn-whiskey and clothes halfhangin' off 'em-swaggers.

<< What." he slur," what ya still doin' here, Nelly?"

"Massa," I says.

"Help me ..." he swagger till he almost fall. I gits and help em.

"Help me," he say, "Put me in the gazebo." "Massa ..." "You should-a gone with the rest, Nelson." He swig from da corn-whiskey jug, "Ya know them Yankees ain't gonna stop till they take the south to her knees."

He look cross de river, "Just look at the Stanish' place. That's the south now."

"Massa Johns," I say. "Where be Jammay, where be Jeremiah and Lil Willy and--"

"The niggers are gone, Nelson. They're the Yankee's problem now. They're 'free'"--Massa laugh drunkenly--'"free'. Why them no-good-for-nothin' tar babies was free here. Didn't I treat you niggers good, Nelson? Didn't I?"

I stands, speechless as Massa swigs. His face flush that white people's flush when dey drink too much, and he pull out he's pistol and point it at me," Didn't, I, Nelson?"

My mouth go dry as I stares down the trout of he's pistol. Ol' Massa Johns give em dat. He stand, staggerin', pointin', "You hear me, boy?"

"Massa Johns." I pleads.

"I'll shoot your coon ass--RIGHT NOW!"

"Massa Johns was a good Massa. We be frees here, Massa. We eats. We gits da warm huts at night. And we--"

"Help me down !"

I hobbles to the brougham, and Massa lean on my 'ritis shoulder as he stagger down, but I don't flinch. He whiskey-drunk and fittin' to be killin' a nigger.

"Look at the Ransome place." "I's lookin'. Massa. I's lookin'." "Help me over to the gazebo, Nelson. Help me over there."

It hard on me, wif my cane in my one hand and tryin' ta hold Massa wif de other and he lean on my 'ritis shoulder. Drink make him like all de udder white mens. Dey don't cares what kinds of sufferin's ya go true-longin' as dey gits what dey wants ...

Massa falls to de bench in de Gazebo. "Fetch my jug outta the brougham."

Ta fetch de jug, I hobbles as best I kin.

"Quick, nigger! Fetch! Fetch before--like any southern gentlemen--I shoot your nigger ass."

De jug almost empty and I picks at it wif me claws and tuckin' it unders me elbow, hobbles towards Massa.

"Nelson," he say, "You one of the good niggers. You always stand by me."

"Yes Massa." I hands he dajug and he swiggles-like-big gollups that make he's Adams Apple dance up and down. He wipe da juice from his cheeks.

"The rest just plumb-up and run from Twin Oaks. Like it ain't their home. They watch while them damn Yankees bum us to the ground--they're just like them damn yankees. If I didn't know better--I'd say the niggers be in cahoots with them damn yankees. They wanna see the southern gentlemen brought to their knees. Well it ain't gonna happen, Nelson! It ain't!"

He swig from de jug and I glances cross-riber to de Stanish place. Ain't nothin' but blacken timbers, sparkles and free-standin' chimneys now. Even the mens on horses rode off.

Massa, weak-like, point cross-riber, "That-there is the south, Nelson. That-there what's become of the south. That-there is the Yankee version of the south."

I don't knows if it be drink, or Massa's mood, but he cry and bellow into his hands, holdin' the jug wif his baby finger. He go on somethin' awful-like.

"Oh, Massa--we build 'er ag' in." "No .." he mellow. "No ..." "We build er before 'n--" "NO!" He scream. The horses bolt and takes the brougham swaggerin' through de burnin gray fields.

"See? Even the horses show their loyalty to southern gentlemen."

"I goes and fetch--"

"You stay, YOU HEAR ME!? You stay!"

I sits, painful like, to the grounds at the foot of the gazebo. A nigger never set foot in the gazebo less asked.

"You and that 'ritis--you couldn't catch 'em anyways."

"The hosses come back, Massa."

"Hah!" He swigs. "Dixie had it all, Nelly. We was the power--we had more money than them Yankees. We made the world go round. They pit us against our niggers. They hadda pay for their labour. Ours was our niggers. They couldn't compete, Nelly. They certainly wasn't gonna let us southerners be the power was they? Oh, Lincoln and Johnson--they go on sproutin' they're moralistic causes and platitudes--but think about it Nelly--if THEY hadda had the niggers--would they be wagin' a war?"

"'Don't rightly know, Massa," I says.

"I know. That's why Pappy send me to Harvard. He sent me to know. To study their ways. I know what thishere war was all about--and it wasn't about no niggers, Nelly. You just niggers to them too. You ain't that important to em. They was just bright--they figured out the way to humble the southern gentlemen; that was our niggers. And they crushed us. 'Be surprised if Washington's still their capitol tommorrah. I mean, it is a southern town ya know."

I pick at the seaweed grass wif me staff. 'Can't figure what Massa be sayin'.

"A southern gentlemen just a white-nigger to them." He laugh, "Here I am--ruined. Cryin' in my hootch. Talkin' economics to a nigger!" He laugh loud and real hard now. "'Cause that's what this war be about, Nelly. Cold, hard dollars. Niggers was secondary. And I loved my niggers, Nelly, I loved 'em. Never ag' in. Southerners will never love nor trust niggers ag' in. You'll see. Southerners will remember this conspiracy. That's what it is, a conspiracy, the Yankee use our niggers to conspire against us, and bring us to this." He fling his finger at the Stanish place. "My children, and their children's children will never forgive that Yankee,

Nelly. They'll never forgive the nigger either. You'll see. We been betrayed."

Now he stare, cold-strange at me. Cold-strange through dem green-riber eyes of he's.

"I was suckled on a nigger-tit, Nelly. You remember Mammy?"

"Yes suh, I does that." "Could nobody lay a hand on Mammy." "Dats right." "She was my Mammy, Nelson." He whimper ag'in. "I loved Mammy. Didn't I stop Ol'Massa from sellin' her down river?"

"Uh-hunh, yes-suh."

"See that's what them Yankee bastards break. Our bond! Our relationship! Massa pauses to gather he's breaf. Me tinks he's thoughts.

Ain't no one understands niggers like a white southerner. Ain't no other white men in this world been raised on nigger knees, and told stories and suckle from their teats. We had relations. The Yankee hadda break them relations to git at us. They broke 'em, Nelly. They broke all-a us. Why look at the Stanish place."

I looks, cross de riber. Da Stanish place be cinders.

"They'll come here tommorrah, Nelly. Twin Oaks will be just like the Stanish Place tommorrah."

"No. Massa," I says.

"First they'll take everythin' they can lift and sell; have their way with our woman--that's why I sent Missy Bethy and the girls way. That's why I went into the field and put all the animals down. Every single one of em, Nelly!" He start to cry. "I kill my own stock! So them Yanks won't get their stranglin' hands around them! I ... I need the brougham, Nelly ... the brougham ... I gotta... gotta put the horses down..."

"But dat da best team in Browning County, Massa, we raised Cornelius and Sarah since day colts and day--"

"I GOTTA PUT EM DOWN!!" He stand, yellin crossriver, smashin' his pistol against his chest.

"I AM, A SOUTHERN, GENTLEMEN, GODDAMN YA! A SOUTHERN, GENTLEMEN!"

He's words echoes away slow like.

"Massa, I decided, Ice goes fetch Cornelius and Sarah. I fetch 'em for ya.

"STAY WHERE YOU ARE!" He roar. "LET THEM YANKEE BASTARDS COME TOWARDS TWIN OAKS! LET THEM FEEL THE STING OF MY SWORD. THE BALL OF MY PISTOL! LET THEM FALL TO THEIR KNEES IN THE SHADOW OF THE SOUTH !!"

"Massa, Massa," I yells, "you gonna gits an attack, you gonna gits an--"

"I'VE BEEN ATTACKED BY THOSE DUNGLOVIN'--"

Massa stops. We sees the Yankee, the one on the dappled-gray with the glintin' sword, gallopin' towards us. Massa says fer me to go down to de riber.

"No, Massa, I--"

"Down to the river, Nelly. Do not press my patience boy!"

I goes down to de riber. The Yankee-soldier, he come and dismount, talkin' to Massa. Massa swig and seem to pay no mind. He swig, dere in da gazebo. Dere wif the Stanish place smokin' cross-ribers. Dere, wif he's blouse torn and bloody; he's pantaloons dirty, swiggin' from de jug like white trash. Dere, wif the Yankee soldier gleamin' in his finery.

Massa stands, drunk-staggerin', pointin' at the Yankee.

"And you suh!-- are not fit to be trod upon by a southern boot!"

The Yankee-man mount quick-like and gallop away. Massa collapse in a heap, like a hogs gullet t'rown away at bleedin' time.

"Nelson," he say.

I stand, stone-still. I never seen 'em dis way.

"Nelson. Come 'ere. boy." I hobbles to 'em. "Nelson. I retired you."

"Yes suh."

"I never let anything happen to you, Nelson. Upon my word as a gentlemen, nothing. And nor did Ol' Massa. Especially 01' Massa."

"Yes suh."

"Know why, Nelson? Know who your seed was?."-Massa look at me.

I don'ts git what he say,"Niggers don't rightly knows who their Pappy's be, Massa. Nots me, anyways."

Massa stares at me for a long time. "You gotta go, Nelson. Tomorrow the Yankees come for Twin Oaks."

"No Massa, Ice stays wif--" "You go, Nelson! You're a free man! You go." "No, Massa. Ice a Johns nigger. Ice belong on Twin--" "I can't feed ya, Nelson! I've got nothing! NOTHING! YOU ARE FREE, YOU GO!"

Ice starts to break ... Ice can'ts gits ... where Ice go?-where Ice go? Dis is where Ice belongs. Ice be Nelson Johns, a Twin Oaks plantation. Ice be-"Gimme them jugs." "What jugs, Massa?" "Them ones. Help me spread this ... " "Dem's kerosene jugs, Massa." "Help me spread it." "Massa that all the cotton we gots left--ya burned all de--"

"And I'll burn this too! Those Yankees shall have nothing. Nothing!"

It take Massa some time, but he starts flickin' the oil jugs about the cotton plants in de field. Den he return to me and strip off his blouse.

"Nelson--Twin Oaks be part of you--by birthright. By birthright, and this is what they left us, Nelson. This is it. See what they left us?"

"Ice never knowed what birthrightin' rightly means, Massa."

"You was born here like me boy! He try to catch he's breaf.

My Pa was ... Nelson ... go. You're free. Git!"

"Massa I can't goes and--"

"Get you black bastard! Walk to your liberty!" Massa cocks his pistol in my direction. T'ain't likely he could hit me the way he swaggerin' and swallowin' ...

"Walk, Nelson." He point the gun, then shoot into the dirts.

"GET!"

Ice hobbles. Away-like. Me and Massa be brodders? Dat what he mean? How could ya treat yer brodder like dat? Ice don't knows. Ice don't feels. Ice cries.

"Nelson?"

I turns to 'em. He run and hugs me. He be cryin' too. "You go now. If you turn towards me, I'll put a ball through your brain. You hear me?"

"No, Massa," I weeps.

He douse he's blouse in de oil, den light it wif a flint and stone.

I walks wif de water rollin' out me eyes. Ice feels like-don't rightly knows; like Ice walkin' into a great yonder beyond dis world. Into de Jubilee.

Da field blew up; lit it by da flame of he's blouse, it blow up and wif da concuss, Ice trown to de groun', droppin' me staff in de bellowin' t'under. Ice hear Massa scream, den grow silent-like. Ice hear de flames ravagin' de fields, smell de crops and de oil burnin' and da bubblin' flesh of Massa.

Ice feels for me staff.

"Don't look back. don't look back"--dem words keeps churin' true me mine.

When Ice gits me breaf, Ice walks down de road. Ice don't knows where to goes.

Ice a Johns' nigger; Ice Nelson Johns. But sumpin cole go true me limbs .. Like a 01' hoss, I dapple sweat. Yet sumpin" so cole run true me. And, as I look down dat road and into dat Jubilee, me tinks; Ice don't know where to go or whose Ice be anymores.

All Ice knows is Ice Nelson Johns. Ice Nelson Johns ... but who dat be? ... ... who dat be?

George Boyd is a Nova Scotian dramatist. His most recent work : "Wade in the Water, [much less than], is being performed by the Black Thetre Workshop, from October 30 to November 9, 2003.