Sarah's mind slips wistful into the past, to that One Hot Summer in 1957 in Madison County...
"My Goodness, Mandingo, it has been One Hot Summer here this year."
"I don't know: I seems to remember last summer was pretty hot, too. Most summers I can remember have been pretty hot, I reckon. Jess have to live with it, I guess."
"Easy for you to say, Mandingo: you Negroes were made for the hot, sweaty jungle. Us white people are more sensitive to the heat."
"It must be tough sometimes, being white."
"My grandmother says that when she was a child sometimes it would take four Negroes fanning her just to be comfortable enough to drink her sweet tea."
"That's funny, Miss Sarah."
"Funny? How so, my Mandingo?"
"You white people used to have us Negroes do everything for you."
"I don't see that as funny, Mandingo. I wouldn't mind me having some Negroes to help me with my daily routine. You know, washing and fetching things. The past might've been a better way, you know. "
"I don't knows about that, Miss Sarah. I remember seeing the whip marks on my Grandfather's back when I was a child."
"He must've been a bad Negro to deserve such a whipping. Did he rape a white woman?"
"No, nothing like that, Miss Sarah."
"Then what was it?"
"What it was was the Master didn't like him complaining about the Heat..."
I am Laslo.
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