Antebellum (19 page)

“Dogs...” Again, I spoke aloud without meaning to. Instinct trumped my exhaustion, and I jumped back up my feet and began running again.

The dogs kept getting closer. I tried to zig-zag through the woods, but they were so near, I could hear the men's voices that accompanied them. They sounded wild and excited, as if this was some hunting expedition. I tried to run faster, but the fuel I was
burning had its limits. My vision blurred and my hands started to shake, but I kept going. Suddenly, I heard one of the men yell out, his voice laced with a hatred I couldn't understand. “There he is! Let the dogs go!”

I began to panic. The terror in my chest felt like an animal trying to force its way out. I looked around and saw a tree with a branch low enough for me to grab on to. Without thinking, I leaped over and grabbed it.

As soon as I had a hold, I felt a set of teeth sink into my ankle. I screamed and tried to kick the dog off, but the harder I kicked, the deeper its teeth sank into my flesh. I could hear the other dogs growling and barking up at me. Two of them began jumping up and nipping at my pant leg. They were anticipating the meal they'd get when I fell, but I was determined to disappoint them. I reached up to the next highest branch of the tree, and began to pull myself up. The weight of the dog that was biting me pulled down on my ankle, and I thought my entire foot would tear from the rest of my leg. I screamed out again, but continued to try and climb. The dog that was tasting my ankle loosened its grip a bit. His legs dangled off the ground and his growls turned to yelps of confusion. I kicked one last time and the dog released his jaws entirely and fell back to earth. I checked to see if I still had an ankle attached to my right leg, and in my periphery, caught the image of a man running up to me with something in his hand.

I quickly tried to make my way up to the next highest branch, but the man hit me so hard in my side with his object that I almost fell. I looked down and saw his eyes, filled with satisfaction because of the pain he had inflicted. I was high enough off of the ground now that he had to swing as if he was trying to break a piñata. The thick stick he had in his hand had some sort of thorns on it. When he hit me again, they bit into my side and
my eyes began to water. I couldn't take another blow and still hold onto the tree. I tried to kick at him, but my range of motion was too limited. He easily dodged my foot and cocked back for another swing. Desperate, I tried to throw myself around the trunk of the tree, hoping it would hold on to me better than I could hold onto it.

When the thorny stick hit me again, it connected with my lower back. My body jerked in pain, and I felt my grip around the tree release. I fell and landed on my back, hitting my head against something that made my skull feel like Play-Doh. My vision almost went blurry again, but five sets of fangs found a home in my flesh and brought it back to clarity.

“Ahhh! Get these...get these dogs off me, man!”

One of the beasts had torn away the chunk of flesh it was biting, and had come back for more. I couldn't tell how much I was bleeding, but the leg of my jeans began to feel moist. I tried to ignore the five white men that stood over me, watching as I tried to scamper away. When it seemed as if I might have gotten my feet under me, I felt the sharp stick come back across my legs again. I fell down once more, and as I hit the ground, one of the white men called the dogs back to him. When I turned around, I saw the muzzle of an old gun pointed at my mouth.

“What the hell is wrong with you people, man? What y'all want?”

Each of the men looked around at each other, and then at Bradley.

“You was right,” the man who held the gun told Bradley. “This ain't no regular nigger. Ah well...”

The gunslinger raised his hand a few inches up to my forehead, and pulled the trigger.

Barely able to register what was happening, I saw the flash
come from the front of the gun as I lay there on the ground. I squeezed my eyelids shut and waited for my life to go by in a flash.

After five seconds, I figured either my death had been painless or something had gone wrong. I opened my eyes and saw Bradley with his hand on the shooter's wrist. He had pushed the shooter's hand up so that the bullet had gone up in the air instead of into my brain. The man looked at Bradley with both confusion and anger painting his face.

“What're you doing, Bradley?”

Bradley let the shooter's wrist go and stood in front of him.

“This nigger ain't from 'round here, Finch. He somethin' differen'. He talk differen', he walk differen'. Missus Talbert, she flap her mouth from here straight'a the ocean if you let her. Boss told her 'bout dis here nigger, and you know half the town gotta know bout 'im by now. Now, Finch, what if I take this here nigger, and break 'em so bad that he weep when he sees himself a white man? What you reckon that'll do for ol' Bradley's reputation?”

“Mista Talbert say to kill 'im,” Finch replied.

“I know that, but jus' hear me a second. Lemme talk to the boss before we kill 'im. If he still want the nigger dead, we'll leave him side of the road. But if he says I can have 'im, I'll letcha help me teach 'im some manners. We both be the most famous nigger breakers for miles! Whatcha say?”

I could tell Finch was thinking hard about his decision. I had no idea what they were talking about, but I tried my best to jump up and run away. The furthest I got was my hands and knees, and my reward for that was a quick kick in my head. I passed out, thinking that I must have suffered some type of brain damage by now.

When I came to, I was being dragged up the road that I had run down during my attempted escape. Two of the men that had chased me were holding me under either arm. The rest of my body was limp. I was too weak to pick up my head, but I let my eyes flutter open. I was leaving a steady trail of blood behind me, and my Nikes dragged the ground and left a parallel path on either side of the thin red line. As we moved, I heard snatches of conversation.

“I don't like it, Bradley.”

“And I knows it, Mr. Talbert. I knows you feelin' uncomfortable 'bout this nigger here. But sir, you give me one month with 'im, and I swear I'll have 'im lined up perfect! He'll be da best slave you ever laid eyes on when I'm done with 'im!”

“And if he's not, Bradley? What happens if you can't break him, and he rouses up all my other niggers? Do you know how much money a field full of slaves is worth, Bradley? Do you have enough money to purchase replacements for runaway slaves? No, you don't. I know this because I pay you.”

“I knows it, sir, and you absolutely right, but I can—”

“Shut up, Bradley. I don't care about what you can and cannot do. I don't appreciate you convincing Finch to disobey my orders, and I don't appreciate you trying to use this situation for your personal gain. Do as I say, and shoot this nigger in the head.”

“What if you cut my pay, sir?”

“What?”

“Cut my pay, sir. You can cut my pay, and in return, I can keep the nigger. You needin' another cotton gin, Mr. Talbert. You can take the extra monies and get equipment, get yourself a strong buck, you can do whatevers you want, sir. Jus' lemme have the nigger, sir, please...”

Mr. Talbert stopped short for a moment.

“Why do you want him so bad, Bradley?”

Bradley's voice became quiet, almost somber.

“Half the town already know 'bout this nigger we found, sir. People sayin' everything—from him bein' from 'cross the ocean to him bein' from out in space somewheres. If I break 'im, and break 'im good, I'll be famous, sir. Be known for miles out. Get me a big 'ol mansion and lots a land jus' like you, Mr. Talbert. Feel like a real white man, 'stead of havin' to be 'round these niggers all the time. God help me, sir...getting so's that I cain't stand the sight of 'em no more.”

Mr. Talbert was quiet for another moment.

“Well, I guess you can't knock a man for having ambition. And you're right about the niggers—any halfway civilized man can only tolerate them in small doses. That's why we hire people like you, Bradley. But again...you can't knock a man for having ambition...”

“And I knows you can use the money, sir.”

“You are correct, Bradley. I could use the money.”

Bradley leaned in close and whispered, so that only Mr. Talbert could hear him. “Maggie ain't fresh no more, sir. Maybe you'se take your pick from the next ship come in...”

Mr. Talbert whispered back with acid in his voice.

“I do not wish for my indiscretions to be thrown back in my face, you irreputable heathen! I should have you thrown in jail for that!”

“I'm sorry, sir...I'm sorry...please forgive me...”

“You'd better be!” Mr. Talbert glanced hatefully at Bradley, then softened his look and his voice. “But as much as I hate to admit it, Maggie is worn out. She's had more children than I can count. It would be nice to have a fresh wench around here.”

Bradley bit his thumbnails in anticipation.

“Alright, Bradley. I will take your next payment in full. I trust you have enough saved up to be able to cover it?”

“Yes, sir, I do.”

“You may have the nigger, but I want daily reports on him. The moment something goes wrong, I'll hang him myself. And I'll be coming by your quarters regularly to check on your progress. Do you understand?”

“Yes, sir.”

“I still have a bad feeling about this, Bradley. I really do. Unfortunately, there are certain sins that I continue to struggle with. We all have a little nigger in us, Bradley. That's why we ask God for forgiveness. Do you understand?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Good.”

I was dropped on the ground, and kicked in my side for good measure. My head jerked up in response to the pain, and I saw that I was back on the same plantation that I had run away from. All the slaves filed out from the warehouse to see what was happening.

Mr. Talbert turned back to Bradley.

“You break him, and you break him good. If he ruins my slaves, I'll have you hung.”

Shock echoed across Bradley's face, but he tried to keep his composure. “Sir?”

“You will never have enough money to restock my slaves, Bradley. If you fail with this nigger, then that is on you and you alone. But if your failure ruins my investments, you don't have the capital to back it, and I won't want you around here to try
and repay your debt. I will simply have you hung, and move on. You understand that, don't you, Bradley?”

Bradley's voice lowered. “Yes, sir.”

“Good. I'm going in the house. Dudley!”

One of the white men who had captured me ran up to meet Mr. Talbert. “Yes, sir.”

“Run down to the docks and see when the next shipment comes in, won't you?”

“Yes, sir.”

All the men dispersed except Bradley and Finch, who waited until Mr. Talbert went back inside of his house before taking the thickest rope I had ever seen and tying it around my wrists. I fought as best I could, but my energy was gone and my muscles just wouldn't work. All I could do was mumble.

“Wait...till I...get back...to D.C. Forget...suing...I'ma have... y'all...murcked...in da...street...”

Bradley and Finch laughed as they grabbed the other end of the rope and tugged until it was upright. I felt my arms being pulled above my head, and pretty soon my body was supported only by my wrists. My feet dangled and my torso was stretched like rubber. Gravity pulled on my legs like a barbell, and each second became more and more painful. I tried to scream, but all that came out were short yelps. I figured after a while, my body would rip apart.

I could only lift my head enough to have it fall right back down again. I could still see the slaves staring at me, and suddenly Roka broke out from the crowd and screamed out.

“DON'T LET THEM TAKE DIFFERENT! DON'T LET THEM TAKE DIFFERENT!”

“You shut up, you black bastard!” Bradley pointed at Roka as he yelled. “I had enough of you! Talbert say next time you act up
I can gut ya myself. Say another word, goddammit. I'll feed your heart to the pigs.”