Barracoon: The Story of the Last "Black Cargo"

by Zora Neale Hurston

Kossula ceased speaking and looked pointedly at his melon rind. There was still lots of good red meat and a quart or two of juice. I looked at mine. I had more meat left than Kossula had. Nothing was left of the first installment, but a pleasant memory. So we lifted the half-rinds to our knees and started all over again. The sun was still hot so we did the job leisurely. Watermelon halves having ends like everything else, and a thorough watermelon eating being what it is, a long over-stuffed silence fell on us. When I was able to speak, somehow the name juju came into my mind, so I asked Kossula what he knew about it. He seemed reluctant to answer my question, but finally he did so.