Cudjo's parable, an onion, not-absinthe

[asakiyume]

Cudjo’s parable
wakanomori was able to get for me Zora Neale Hurston's "Cudjo's Own Story of the last African Slaver," published in the Journal of Negro History 12, no 4 (October 1927), 648-63. He remembers his village in Africa and talks about life in America.

At the end he told a parable about his wife Albine dying before him:

I will make a parable.

Cudjo and Albine have gone to Mobile together.

They get on the train to go home and sit side by side. The conductor comes along and says to Cudjo: “Where are you going to get off?” and Cudjo answers: “Mount Vernon.”

The conductor then asks Albine: “Where are you going to get off?” and she replies: “Plateau.”

Mount Vernon is several miles beyond Plateau.

Cudjo is surprised. He turns to Albine and asks: “Why, Albine! How is this? Why do you say you are going to get off at Plateau ?”

She answers: “I must get off.” The train stops and Albine gets off. Cudjo stays on. He is alone. But old Cudjo has not reached Mount Vernon yet. He is still journeying on.

I was moved by the parable, especially having seen with my own eyes that the cemetery is at Plateau.


I went to get just one onion--a purple onion--and a box of sweet cereal at the supermarket. The supermarkets around here seem to make an effort to hire people with mental deficits to do things like bagging—I’ve noticed this at more than one chain. The guy doing bagging for me (my two things) is one of these. He put my box of cereal in my bag, but held onto the onion.

When I had paid and looked over, he showed it to me and said, “I love these onions.”

It did look beautiful in his hand. It was a perfect shape, and a beautiful red-purple color.

I said, “Me too; they’re great in salsa or in soups. What do you like them in?”

He said, “I like to put them on hamburgers … I just like these onions.”

Maybe he likes them for more than practical reasons. Maybe he likes the beauty of them.

Lots of people appreciate things like an onion, but not many people take the time to stop and share that appreciation with a stranger, especially while they’re working. I felt grateful.

Not-absinthe
Absinthe is a rich green, so I’m told. I’ve never seen it. It’s made from wormwood, Artemisia absinthium. An infusion of wormwood’s cousin mugwort, Artemisia vulgaris, makes a similar rich, green drink.

Doesn’t it look like a potion? It is a potion.

Comments

[joycemocha.livejournal.com]

I liked it. I also liked that you highlighted that people with retardation can perceive and enjoy beauty. One of the neatest things about my recent music festival marathon was seeing a father and son--son with Down Syndrome, but mild as far as physical characteristics were concerned--at the String Cheese Incident concerts at Red Rocks. The son was very much into the music, very much enjoying it, and making some very good, sophisticated music observations.

When I did my student teaching in the self-contained academic class (mostly with students who had retardation, with and without Down Syndrome) there was one young lady who was adamant that she was going to become a movie star, speech impediment and all. Interestingly enough, she reminded me of Bette Davis. Same eyes and all.

[asakiyume.livejournal.com]

I wonder if that girl in your class did get to work in film at all--I hope so. (As for being a star, it's like being a best-selling author, so I wouldn't expect she--or anyone--would necessarily achieve that.)

That's great about the father and the son!

And thanks; your comment reassures me about what I wrote.