【文章內(nèi)容簡介】 up picture after picture of me sitting there in front of the house with Maggie cowering behind me. She never takes a shot without making sure the house is included. When a cow es nibbling around the edge of the yard she snaps it and me and Maggie and the house. Then she puts the Polaroid in the back seat of the car, and es up and kisses me on the forehead.　　Meanwhile Asalamalakim is going through motions with Maggie39。s hand. Maggie39。s hand is as limp as a fish, and probably as cold, despite the sweat, and she keeps trying to pull it back. It looks like Asalamalakim wants to shake hands but wants to do it fancy. Or maybe he don39。t know how people shake hands. Anyhow, he soon gives up on Maggie.　　Well, I say. Dee.　　No, Mama, she says. Not 39。Dee39。, Wangero Leewanika Kemanjo!　　What happened to 39。Dee39。? I wanted to know.　　She39。s dead, Wangero said. I couldn39。t bear it any longer, being named after the people who oppress me.　　You know as well as me you was named after your aunt Dicle, I said. Dicie is my sister. She named Dee. We called her Big Dee after Dee was born.　　But who was she named after? asked Wangero.　　I guess after Grandma Dee, I said.　　And who was she named after? asked Wangero.　　Her mother, I said, and saw Wangero was getting tired. That39。s about as far back as I can trace it, I said.　　Though, in fact, I probably could have carried it back beyond the Civil War through the branches.　　Well, said Asalamalakim, there you are.　　Uhnnnh, I heard Maggie say.　　There I was not, I said, before 39。Dicie39。 cropped up in our family, so why should I try to trace it that far back?　　He just stood there grinning, looking down on me like somebody inspecting a Model A car. Every once in a while he and Wangero sent eye signals over my head.　　How do you pronounce this name? I asked.　　You don39。t have to call me by it if you don39。t want to, said Wangero.　　Why shouldn39。t I? I asked. If that39。s what you want us to call you, we39。ll call you. 　　I know it might sound awkward at first, said Wangero.　　I39。ll get used to it, I said. Ream it out again.　　Well, soon we got the name out of the way. Asalamalakim had a name twice as long and three times as hard. After I tripped over it two or three times he told me to just call him Hakimabarber. I wanted to ask him was he a barber, but I didn39。t really think he was, so I don39。t ask.　　You must belong to those beetcattle peoples down the road, I said. They said Asalamalakirn when they met you too, but they didn39。t Shake hands. Always too busy feeding the cattle, fixing the fences, putting up saltlick shelters, throwing down hay. When the white folks poisoned some of the herd the men stayed up all night with rifles in their hands. I walked a mile and a half just to see the sight.　　Hakimabarber said, I accept some of their doctrines, but farming and raising cattle is not my style. (They didn39。t tell me, and I didn39。t ask, whether Wangero (Dee) had really gone and married him.)　　We sat down to eat and right away he said he didn39。t eat collards and pork was unclean. Wangero, though, went on through the chitlins and corn bread, the greens and everything else. She talked a blue streak over the sweet potatoes. Everything delighted her. Even the fact that we still used the benches her daddy made for the table when we couldn39。t afford to buy chairs.　　Oh, Mama! she cried. Then turned to Hakimabarber. I never knew how lovely these benches are. You can feel the rump prints, she said, running her hands underneath her and along the bench. Then she gave a sigh and her hand closed over Grandma Dee39。s butter dish. That39。s it! she said. I knew there was something I wanted to ask you if I could have. She jumped up from the table and went over in the corner where the churn stood, the milk in it clabber by now. She looked at the churn and looked at it.　　This churn top is what I need, she said. Didn39。t Uncle Buddy whittle it out of a tree you all used to have?　　Yes, I said.　　Uh huh, she said happily. And I want the dasher,too.　　Uncle Buddy whittle that, too? asked the barber.　　Dee (Wangero) looked up at me.　　Aunt Dee39。s first husband whittled the dash, said Maggie so low you almost couldn39。t hear her. His name was Henry, but they called him Stash.　　Maggie39。s brain is like an elephants, Wanglero said, laughing. I can use the churn top as a center piece for the alcove table,”she said, sliding a plate over the churn, and I39。ll think of something artistic to do with the dasher.　　When she finished wrapping the dasher the handle stuck out. I took it for a moment in my hands. You didn39。t even have