Addio zio Tom Page #5

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I'll latch him onto my tit.

Be careful, he's got the runs,

he's messing everywhere.

- I'm freezing, do I have to bathe?

- Get in there and wash up good.

Hey you, pump the water, faster!

- Don't let them play with my dress.

- Get back in there!

Take that dress off. Give me that,

face powder is $5 an ounce!

It's not meant for dirty Negroes

like you. Now get out of here!

- Enough Mammy, I'm clean.

- Let me take a look.

You don't like the water, eh?

You're worse than a Negro.

Not so hard, you're hurting me.

You know those Italian photographers

that are here?

Mammy, I want them to take

my portrait in the pink dress.

Is it cut too low?

Get out of here! You whites

are such bastards.

Scoundrels! You're all scoundrels!

And you, get the f*** away!

The Negro little boy

Flew right up into the sky

And you, will you stop plucking

those feathers!

Drinking water! Drinking water!

Thief!. Let me see!

Where is the chicken?

Give me your hat.

Look here! Thief!.

- Cake with cherries.

- Wait!

I keep putting the cherries on,

and I never run out of cherries.

These are onions, not carrots!

Can't you smell them?

The Negro little boy

Flew right up into the sky

The almonds, I can't crush them.

I'm going to use a plate.

This is not a kitchen!

It's a huge latrine!

Dirty Negro woman, she's putting

her hands in the mayonnaise.

I'm a clean Negro, and I crack eggs

with my glove on.

The Negro little boy

Flew right up into the sky

Get down from there!

The Negro little boy

Flew right up into the sky

Pigs! You're worse than pigs!

Pigs are much better.

And all this just to seat

two people at the dinner table!

This is the first image of a historical

carousel called ''Pilgrimage'',

which is celebrated every year

in the spring.

At this time, the old south takes

a trip down memory lane.

For the sake of the carousel,

everything comes out of storage:

from the old granny in a wheelchair

to the few neighborhood Negroes,

who for $1 2 an hour

agree to pose as slaves.

The slaveholders bravely revisit

their sins of yore, like this one,

the first of the day.

They had a slave bring them

their coffee in bed. Incredible.

The 1 9th century feels very far away,

halfway up the ladder of time.

How was it? It depends if you're

looking from the bottom or the top.

From the bottom,

we discover under old drapes

a modern and hypocritical reality.

From above, on the other hand,

we enjoy a stale view

of ancient, innocent customs,

such as chaste girls bathing

with their nightgowns on.

Right next door, we find a walnut stool

used to flog slaves.

It looks more like an antique

than an instrument of torture.

Next to the music box we see

the blond Eveline,

sitting on Uncle Tom's lap

on a rainy evening.

In the dusky sitting room,

the old grandfather clock keeps time.

It makes us feel almost sorry

that General Sherman is at the gates.

Sherman arrived with 30,000

Union troops.

Today, there are 1 00,000 northerners.

A mere hundred years have passed

since the General swept like a fury

down from the north

and tore down these candid temples

to slavery, and already the south

seems to have bounced back to the

original splendor of its dark age.

The pretentious Neoclassical style

of its large houses

shines again over the green parks

as it did in those opulent times,

which were rife with slaves,

cotton, tobacco,

and the coffers of the south

were full of Confederate dollars.

Today the old houses of the south

are national museums,

and their owners are responsible

for their upkeep.

The woman of the house is usually

in charge of protecting the furniture

and the antique rugs.

Stop! You can't come in

with high-heeled shoes.

After a long, grim winter without

northerners in the house,

the old south relives in the spring

its economic boom.

The north today buys cotton

at $1 0 per hundred kilograms.

The south sells its high-quality,

slave-grade cotton at $1 per ball.

Nixon devalues the dollar by 7%%.

The south revalues its old Confederate

dollar by 1 07%%, exchanging it equally.

The boom goes on.

Someone found an old column

in the cellar and sliced it up.

Today, the old white south

can be bought by the slice.

$1 0 a slice, and the Negro, posing

as a slave, keeps half of the proceeds.

New York, Fifth Avenue.

It's Easter.

A religious extremist waves a flag

and a Bible.

He yells something to do with Negroes,

but no one can understand him.

On the most bourgeois street in

the world,

they celebrate Easter

with the spring parade,

and spring is the most bourgeois

of the seasons.

Up here, far

from the rotting crowd below,

a chosen few have found

an altar close enough to the sky,

even though it's been sullied

by the arrival of the police.

''We're here,'' they say, ''to declare our

contrition over the sins of the world.''

''Naked?'' The police ask.

''We're not naked, we're undressed.''

Satisfied, they kiss. Today the police

no longer trust the penal code.

A crime looks like a crime.

Then, it turns out that

it's an ideological crime,

and they look like idiots.

Might as well drop the whole thing.

Today, being white, as well as

being shameful, is also a grave sin.

One of the many ways to atone

is to cover smear paint on one's body.

Each smear is a sin,

and each sin has its color.

Red for wars, massacres and the like,

yellow for gold and riches and

all the evils associated with wealth.

Black for racism, Nazism, fascism

and lots of other -isms.

The evil one, meaning the devil,

is white.

The devil's first victim,

according to these penitents who are

ashamed of their white bottoms,

is the Negro, who seems here

to feel slightly out of place.

''Abracadabra, I'm going to

exorcise you.''

For centuries the white devil

kept the Negro in hell.

He forced him to squirm

on the ground like a worm.

He imprisoned him, flogged him,

tortured him.

Then he dragged him

in chains through his American ordeal.

He chose him over Barabbas.

He betrayed him likeJudas.

He crucified him in Vietnam.

But today it's Easter,

and the Negro is reborn

and ascends to the sky,

to take his place at his father's side,

because the Negro is the son of God,

because God is black.

In fact in Detroit, in the Catholic

Church of the Sacred Heart,

Jesus has been painted black.

Is it antiracism or reverse racism?

Once upon a time they said,

''When God was white,

the Negro was not a man,

because God, who had made man

in his image, was not black.''

That must mean that today,

since God is black, we'll say this,

''God made man in his image,

and since God is no longer white,

the white man is no longer a man.''

The Negro community has flocked

to this church where all the saints,

and even the Virgin Mary are all black.

We can't help but think back

to the famous black Manifesto written

in August, 1 969, and still extant,

in which the Negroes claimed that

the Church owed them

300 billion dollars in damages

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