47 (19 page)

When the night came the heat didn't let up and even the little light that had filtered in with the sun was gone. I
came awake, lamenting my sad fate. There I was chained by my ankles with no water or food, dying. And what had
I done wrong? I had helped to save the master's daugh
ter. I had come back home even though it meant a life of
slavery.

"Numbah Twelve?" came a voice from outside of our

hotbox.

"Eighty-four?" I answered.

"Is Johnny in there wit'you, Forty-seven?" she asked
through the door.

"Yeah but he out. It's 'cause'a no watah I think."

"I brought you an' him some watah an' two apples," she
said. "Mud Albert sneaked out an' unchained me an' give
me this here from Flore."

And with that the food slot opened. I could feel the
cool breeze of night coming in through there. She handed through a small water skin and two apples. Because my
hands were free I was able to reach out and take her gifts.

"Tell him that I be prayin' for you. I sure will."

The girl that John called Tweenie closed the food slot
and I held the jug to his lips. At the first taste of the water
on his tongue he made a sound in his throat and roused. I
held the cup to his lips until he drank every drop.

When he realized that he'd finished the water he asked, "Did you drink already?"

"Yeah," I lied. I figured that he needed the water more
than I did and, anyway, the fruit that Eighty-four gave us
had water in it too.

We each ate an apple. I devoured mine, core and all.

This is another moment that I have to stop and explain
the crazy contradiction of the pain of slavery. Those apples
certainly weren't the best that I've ever eaten. I have trav
eled, in my many years, near and far across America and
beyond. I have eaten the most delicious fruits that our rich
soil has to offer. But that mealy little apple that Eighty-
four fed us in our prison was the sweetest, most delicious
thing that I've ever tasted. No great meal of succulent pork
and sweet potatoes could ever be so satisfying. That's because we were starving. We were near death. And those small spotted fruit contained the taste of salvation.

In the morning the door to our cell was opened and we
were dragged out into the light of day. All around the yard
stood the field slaves, in chains. The house slaves were
also there
Fred Chocolate, Big Mama Flore, Nola, and the rest of the servants. Sitting on fences and wagons all
around were Mr. Stewart and a dozen or so white riflemen.
Dead center of the yard was a huge wagon wheel leaned
up against a hay wagon.

When I saw that big wheel my heart went cold.

John and I were thrown to the ground and Master
Turner came out wearing a black suit like Andrew Pike had worn the day he interrupted Ned's funeral.

"We are here today," Tobias said, "to punish the disrespect, thievery, and mutiny of these two niggers, Number Twelve and Number Forty-seven. They are bein' punished
for talkin' back, for stealin' a handkerchief, and for runnin'
away while on business for their master. I have brought out
all you other slaves so that you will see and learn, so that
you will remember not to forget your place in the scheme of things as God has decreed.

"I have to punish these boys because it's the responsi
bility of the white man to keep the black from forgettin'
his place. But I am not unfeelin'. I could have both of you
boys whipped until you were dead. But I know that po'
Forty-seven was led astray by this new nigger here. So the
punishment for Number Twelve is twenty-four lashes and a visit to Mr. Stewart's shack .. ."

"No!" Eighty-four shouted. I saw her try to run out into
the yard but her chains and the women around her held

her back.

"And as for Forty-seven, he is to receive just twelve

lashes
"

Mama Flore ran out into the yard yelling words that
made no sense to me. She was tearing at her breast and
running right for Tobias. A big white man stood forward
and knocked Flore down with the butt of his rifle. The
moment he did that Mud Albert ran out. The rifleman
swiveled and shot Albert in the chest.

All of this was almost too much for me to take in and so
when Champ Noland also broke line and was beaten to the
ground by other white men I hardly noticed. All I could
see was Mama Flore like a lump on the ground and Mud
Albert crawling toward her and bleeding like a well-pump bringing up water.

Albert made it almost to Flore's side but then he stopped
moving. I'm sure that was the moment of his death.

"Get on with it!" Tobias Turner shouted then.

John was dragged to the wagon wheel and chained to i
hand and foot. Mr. Stewart counted out the lashes as a bi
&
white man named Thaddeus Murphy worked his bullwhip
in a hideous way.

John didn't cry or shout. He just took the lashes and
hung down. When that was over they put me in his place.

I cried and shouted for Mama Flore. I begged and
screamed and finally I passed out. Before I lost conscious
ness I had a vision of myself as a young child sitting on
Flore's lap and playing with her ears.

"You got big ears, Mama Flore," I remembered saying.

"You got little bitty ones," she said, "like chocolate sea-shells."

And then I passed out.

16.

My back was on fire when I came awake in the slave cabin
that afternoon.

"You niggahs really messed up," Pritchard said.

I couldn't see the lame carpenter but I knew that he was
standing there behind me.

"Yessiree," Pritchard cackled, "you niggers just had to
act all uppity and now you see what you get. Mud Albert
dead, Champ Noland in the Tomb. They say that Mama
Flore is in her closet gettin' ready for her harp."

"Mama Flore dyin'?" I cried. "Naw it ain't true."

"You see?" Pritchard said. He came into view on my left
side, leaning on his crutch and grinning. "You see? Talkin' back to your betters is why you got them sores on yo back.
That's why Numbah Twelve out in Mr. Stewart's killin'
shack right now. That's why Mud Albert is dead in the barn."

My heart was devastated. Mud Albert dead, Mama Flore
dying. Champ Noland, the most powerful man anyone had
even seen, chained and beaten. All of that happened be
cause I asked John to save Eloise. And even though he had
saved the girl and even though I was happy that she was
alive, I was miserable at the cost of her survival. Everyone
I had ever loved was destroyed.

I was in terrible pain but still I lifted myself from the slave cot. I wasn't surprised that my feet weren't chained.
The wounds on my back were so bad that they probably
expected me to die. The bullwhip does dreadful damage
to human skin. It tears all the way down to bone. I was bleeding from a dozen crisscrossed tears in my flesh, but still I got to my feet at the foot of the bed.

"Are you crazy, niggah?" Pritchard cried. "Git back in
that bed before somebody white sees you."

"Get away from me, Pritchard," I said. "I'm small and
I'm hurtin' but I will find a way to get back at you if you
get in my way."

"It ain't me you got to worry 'bout, boy. It's Tobias an'
Stewart and every white man from here to the border of
Tennessee that's gonna be after you."

I made my way to the cabin door. Every step I took I
worried about falling down. But I kept on walking because
of the hatred in my heart. I had never felt like that before.
Tobias had taken everything from me, everything except
John and I would die before I let Mr. Stewart destroy him.

I had never been to the killin' shack before but I knew
where the path was that led there. I stumbled out behind the slave cabin and then down the trail that had been the
doom of so many black souls. There were birds crying at
my passage but to my wounded heart they sounded like

the tormented voices of all of the slaves Mr. Stewart had
tortured and killed.

I didn't know what I would do when I got to my desti
nation. I probably wouldn't live out the day but I didn't
care. My friend needed me and I would not let him down.

I lumbered through the vegetation, feeling the raw
wounds on my back with every step. When I looked down
I could see the blood trickling to my feet. But that didn't stop me. I just took one step after another down the evil
lane.

After some time I came to an open yard. Across from
where I stood was a dilapidated cabin. I knew that was
where I'd find Mr. Stewart and Tall John. I reached down
and picked up a throwing rock that had sharp corners on
two sides. I took one step and then someone grabbed me
by my arm. I turned to hit that someone with my rock but
before I could swing I saw that it was Eighty-four standing
there in her worn blue dress.

"What you doin' heah, Forty-seven?" she cried, pulling me from the road.

"I came for John."

"Me too," she said.

"That's the killin' shack," I said.

"I s'pose it is," Eighty-four agreed. "Mr. Stewart is in there right now killin' my baby."

"I guess we got to go in there if'n we wanna save him,"
I said.

"Yeah," she said.

But neither one of us moved. Faced with the certain
death of the killing shack we were frozen. Our entire lives
we had been trained to fear Mr. Stewart. Our entire lives
we were told that the white overboss had complete power
over us. Our fear was like an invisible wall standing in the
middle of that yard.

Eighty-four reached out a finger and touched my cheek.

"You cryin'," she said.

It was her touch that pushed me past the line of our fear.

"You git a big stick," I said. "Git a big stick and then we
gonna go up on that porch. I'ma go in an' th'ow my rock an' when he chasin' me out the do' you try an' hit 'im on the head."

Eighty-four nodded and looked around for a stick. She
found a tree branch that was as big as a club. That was the
first time I looked at her as something other than chattel.
She was a young woman and beautiful as Tall John had
said. She was stronger than many men I knew and the love
in her heart for John found a companion in me.

We strode toward the door of the cabin. Eighty-four
moved to the side and I pushed the door wide.

When I got into the room I took in everything at once. The first thing that assailed me was the smell. It was as if
Mr. Stewart had stored rotted meat in the walls. It stank
and burned my eyes. There was a long table in the middle of
the floor and John was stretched out across it. The leather
bands lashed to his wrists and ankles were attached to

heavy baskets that had cannon balls in them for weight.
My friend wasn't screaming but I could see the pain in
his face.

Mr. Stewart was standing over the table with his back to
me. When I hefted my stone I realized that my strength
was waning. I had only one chance to hit Stewart and then
run. I doubted that I would have been able to make it
across the yard.