Today was New Year’s Day and somebody wanted to buy him, and that somebody was Jason Jackson Turner. He’s a people too and his story is this; his grandfather owns half the docks in New Orleans but he comes all the way up here every New Year to buy a boy. It’s always a boy. I can see straight through him. I hate the man, he makes my skin crawl, there’s something about him makes my thumbs prickle. He comes shameless into our yard in a white and red striped jacket looking like a candy cane, and a huge top hat. That’s what they call fashion.
     How these poor folk dread Christmas as New Year follows sure as sunrise when they get sold south or rented south. Every year there’s ice on the ground and he makes the boys take off their shirts and more if he’s given half a chance. He thumbs their nipples. I told him once; I don’t think boys make good wet-nurses. He just grinned like I’d said something clever.
      So today he descends like Calliope all fluttering scarves and heads straight for George. My Pa is right there, so I can’t say, this one’s not for sale.
     He bends down low so George has to look into his face. “What’s your name?” he asks. George turns away. He asks again and George murmurs it out and I can see this purchaser has been struck. The same thing that won me, the gentleness, the shyness, as self-contained as a birthday parcel.
      “It’s too chill to make the child undress,” I tell him.
      “There’s no need. He’s very satisfactory.”
      “What will you use him for?”
      “Oh,” he says with a smile. “Ornament.”
      “And when he’s 24?”
      “Oh, by then the whole world will be different. Get used to it, young Mr Jameson. Your trade will have changed considerably by then.” He slaps my shoulder and puts a kerchief over his face like I smell. Of course all these fine and fancy folks don’t even want to dine with slavetraders.
      “I’ll see about the paperwork,” I tell him. I look at George and he looking right at me and those eyes say plain as pumpkins don’t leave me. Don’t leave me with this man.
     My heart roils and my fists clench and I can’t think straight, I walk around the yard wondering why the Earth does not open up to prevent such enormities. I shiver inside with disgust and misery and I know I cannot bear to dispose of George in this way.
      “Father,” I say. “I…I refuse to sell that boy to that man.”

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