Itwasapeaceful，well-paidlifetillDeesafeltthereturnofthedesiretodrinkdeepHewishedforanorgyThelittledraughtsthatlednowhereweretakingthemanhoodoutofhim。
Hewenttotheplanter，and“Mymother’sdead。”saidhe，weeping。
“Shediedonthelastplantationtwomonthsago，andshediedoncebeforethatwhenyouwereworkingformelastyear。”saidtheplanter，whoknewsomethingofthewaysofnativedom。
“Thenit’smyaunt，andshewasjustthesameasamothertome。”
saidDeesa，weepingmorethanever“Shehaslefteighteensmallchildrenentirelywithoutbread，anditisIwhomustfilltheirlittlestomachs。”saidDeesa，beatmghisheadonthefloor。