She don't set no store to see a king. Her pa a king back in Africa, and they shoot him dead. Them Portuguese… — Orson Scott Card
She don't set no store to see a king. Her pa a king back in Africa, and they shoot him dead. Them Portuguese slavers show her what it mean to be a king—it mean you die quick like everybody, and spill blood red like everybody, and cry out loud in pain and scared—oh, fine to be a king, and fine to see one. Do them White folk believe this lie?
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Was it worth it? To lose part of who he had been in order to live free? Perhaps this new self was better than the old.
You can't change what you don't understand.
In a way, he lost some of himself, some of his knack, and therefore some of the choices he might have had in life. But in losing those, he gained so much more freedom, so much more power, that he was clear winner in the bargain.
