By Gary Fincke
During extended summers, some children became air-conditioners, slow-fanning the wives and daughters and guests of their masters. They swung their arms, sweating themselves, to prevent discomfort. They were loved for usefulness, gestured from side to side like expensive, ambidextrous tools. From outside, from horseback, they became, each humid afternoon, small silhouettes of household maintenance. Before long, they learned the science of large room and veranda cooling. With water and fans, parlors could be perfected by rippling, without splashing, arrangements of filled bowls. They mastered a surgeon’s touch, or, if it could be imagined by the comforted, the temporary handwork of angels.
Superbly lyrical. Bravo!
Thanks
Fantastic imagery. I felt the languid horror of the times. All those children learning the science of the room for survival. Well done.
Thank you
That is the way I imagine my ancestor’s southern plantations really were. Harriet Beecher Stowe got it horribly wrong in “Uncle Tom’s Cabin”
Makes the imagination work. Thank you.