Antebellum (36 page)

13

I
knew before I opened my eyes that the old Moses Jenkins did not exist anymore. Standing in front of Bradley and speaking with complete freedom had done something that no drug or stadium crowd ever had or could. I felt an inferno within me even while I was unconscious, letting the warmth of the blaze lull me from darkness to peace.

When I finally opened my eyes, I thought I was in a
Matrix
movie. Things looked the same, but were somehow different, as is the case with a room in a house that's been slightly rearranged without the owner's knowledge. I imagine it's what Neo felt, seeing a wall one second, and a series of zeroes and ones the next. My head hurt from the blow I'd received, but it was a righteous pain that made me want to laugh more than wince. It was a pain that was worth it.

“I ain't believe it till now...”

I knew it was Aunt Sarah before I turned my head, which proved difficult because of the large knot and the blood caked on it.

If I hadn't known something was different about me before I'd awakened, I'd have definitely found out after I sat up. Aunt Sarah was at my bedside, but she wasn't nursing me. She hadn't bandaged my head, prepared any roots, or called Nessie, Bennie, and Liza in to attend to my needs. She just sat there and waited, like a soldier in limbo between wars.

Law, Buck, Sam, Fred, and Tom all stood behind her in various spots around the room. When I stirred awake they didn't move from their spots, but stood upright, squared their shoulders, and looked dead at me.

“Aunt Sarah, I...”

No. Something stopped me mid-sentence. A new voice that spoke through the fire in my chest. “She is not your Aunt,” it said.

I nodded to no one in particular, beginning to understand what this difference really meant. I sat up straight, despite the nagging at the back of my head, and took in a deep breath.

“Sarah, what's goin' on? What's happened since I been out?”

My voice was different. Better. It was hard for Sarah to look at me now, as if I'd been infused with sunlight. She did anyway, though.

I could see her strength now, like those zeros and ones in
The Matrix
.

“Dey's meetin' up at da big house 'cause of what happen in da field. I figure they's fittin' punish all us fo' it, and hangs you at da dawn.”

I had no more room for fear inside of me. The fire in my chest had taken up all available space. I nodded my head, hearing facts and nothing more.

“I gotta get up there. See what's goin' on. Can you fix this wound?”

I pointed to the back of my head, and she immediately produced the ingredients she needed to dress the wound. As she stood and began to work, I glanced around curiously, and then looked at the blood-stained bed where I had been lying.

“Why didn't you fix it while I was still knocked out?”

“You ain't ask me to. I know you wasn't dyin', and you a man now. Gotta give men dey choice.”

She'd answered matter-of-factly, as if I'd asked her if the sun would shine tomorrow.

When she finished with me, I made my way to the door. I had a one-tracked mind—get up to the big house so I could find out what Talbert's plans were. They could do whatever they wanted to me, but I wouldn't allow the other slaves to suffer for my actions. If I knew what they were planning, I could figure out a way to get the slaves out of it. They could have me.

I was one step away from the door when Buck jumped in front of me and blocked it.

“Dey's got overseers out there. Dey's afraid a leavin' you alone.”

I looked back at Sarah for confirmation. She nodded.

“Aight...look, Buck, is there any other way outta here?”

Sam stepped forward.

“Dere's a trap door in da flo' right here.” He walked to the other side of the room and moved one of the cots, revealing the thin outline of a square big enough for a man to fit through.

I looked down at it, and then up at Sam in amazement. “How long this been here?”

“Be some years now. Cut it to help these two slaves run away a time 'go.”

“And you ain't never thought to use it for yourself?”

Sam shook his head and Law shrugged his shoulders.

“Guess we been waitin' fo' you, even fo' we knowed you was comin'.”

I looked at everyone in the room, making eye contact with each person as I did so, and nodded my head. Then I fumbled around on the floor until I found a way to lift up the trap door, and gave it a tug. It stubbornly opened.

“You be safe,” Sarah said just before I jumped into the darkness.

“Yes, ma'am.”

The space under the cabin seemed like an abyss. I felt things move against my feet and under my feet as I made my way to the daylight. I could vaguely hear the conversation of the two white men in front of the cabin, so I stepped lightly enough not to cause any attention. When I rose from the blackness, I stood up straight and squinted my eyes, happy to be back in the presence of sunlight. I took a deep breath, exhaled, and then sprinted forward.

The big house was about a mile and a half from the slave cabin. I didn't stop until the mansion was in my view.

There was a stream on Mr. Talbert's property that the slaves had told me about. It was shallow enough to walk across, they said, but large enough that you could hear it running from the house if it was quiet enough. Inside the stream was the jail yard line for field slaves. If you were caught going beyond it, under any circumstances, you were shot dead. The distinction between the two sides of the stream were clear—the slave friendly side had trees that stood side by side, swaying rhythmically with the calling of the wind. The other had two or three trees standing lonely and exposed, made to be envious of the freshly mowed lawn and flowerbeds that stood before them. I stood on the safe side of the stream, with my feet on the edge of my own mortality, and raised my head to take in this mythical abode. I faced the side windows, and from where I stood, any slave could stand and see glimpses of a life they couldn't have. They came in flashes as the Talbert family passed their display windows, making their existence a piece of clothing in a store where you weren't welcome. The large white house seemed to scream an invitation to other large white houses that stood erect with sunlight in its background. There was a homemade swing set sitting in the front yard,
with accommodations for two little children with off-white skin and sundresses that smelled like honey. Any of the black children brazen enough to attempt fun would be thrown to the ground and beaten. A chimney complemented the roof of the house, while the small porch and shed in the back were only for the man of the house.

A picture of the house belonged on a postcard, I thought. Either that, or on the cover of a novel entitled “Don't Judge A Book...”

I kicked off my shoes, rolled my pants legs up, and began making my way across the stream. When I got to the other side, I quickly ran and sat behind the first tree I saw before I put my shoes back on. There wouldn't be many places to hide from here on out. There were one or two other trees, an outhouse, and a mound of dirt where I assumed someone or something had been buried. I took a second to get my breath once again, and peeked around the corner of the tree. When I didn't see anyone in the windows or around the house, I ducked down as low as I could and ran up behind the closest tree to the house.

From here, I could see people through the windows, but I couldn't clearly make them out. Still, I tried my best to get an accurate count. Resolved on what I had to do, I took a series of deep breaths. When I looked again, I was met with the image of Mrs. Talbert as she came out of the front door and made her way to the side of the house where I was hidden.

I jumped behind the tree, praying that she didn't see me. Sweat instantly formed on my brow, and I found myself too nervous to wipe it off. I hesitantly peeked around the tree again. Mrs. Talbert was about nine or ten feet from me, picking up her daughter's toys, singing softly to herself. I could tell that she hadn't seen me. I took a long look at her before ducking behind the tree. She looked as though she'd been radiant in her younger
years, but life and children had taken their toll on her beauty. Her skin was beginning to sag like elastic from her face and neck.

I waited until her singing faded before I peeked out from the tree again. She was retreating back inside the house. My heart began to beat a little slower as a result. When she was back inside, and situated (I hoped), I took another series of deep breaths, then shot out from behind the tree. I tried to get even lower as I made my way across the field, and threw myself behind the outhouse.

The stench was a small price to pay for my safety. I sat on the ground and thanked God that I hadn't been caught. After a moment, I peeked out.

I was close enough now to get a good view of the inside of the house. The two windows closest to the front door looked on to the living room. Mr. Talbert, Bradley, Reverend Lewis, and two other well-dressed gentlemen were sitting on the couches and chairs, engaged in what looked to be an intense conversation.

“I've gotta get up there,” I whispered. “I gotta know what they talkin' about.”

The living room led to a dining room, bustling with a constant flow of traffic. I assumed the men would eat after they finished talking, because four different slave women were rushing in and out of the room setting up silverware and placemats. They bumped into and scooted around each other as they went hurriedly about their business.

Another window gave me a view to the kitchen; a lone woman was inside. My breath caught as I recognized Ella. She kept her eyes glued to a pan on the stove, as if she were frying up the key to her emancipation.

Suddenly, hearing the white men's conversation was secondary in my thoughts. I had to talk to Ella, no matter what it took.

I was close enough to make out the people inside the house,
but too far to hear anything that was being said. Each window was wide open, beckoning me to move closer, and I was too weak to resist. I gathered myself, ducked down, and sprinted to the mound of dirt that lay in the field. When I got there, I lay flat down beside it so anyone who happened to look out at it wouldn't see me.

I could only make out bits and pieces of the conversation now, but it was choppy at best. Frustrated, I decided that if I was going to jump in the water, it might as well be the deep end. Without thinking, I gathered myself once more and ran up to the side of the house, placing my back against the repainted white wooden panels. I was directly under the living room window, and if Mr. Talbert didn't kill me, my fear and nervousness would probably do the job.

Everyone inside sounded as if they were talking right above my head now. I forced my chest and lungs to still so I could listen.

“...so, again, I don't understand why this nigger has been allowed to cause all this trouble? Mr. Talbert, I've always known you to be a reasonable and rational man, which is why I find it hard to believe that you've let this spectacle continue for so long.”

“Governor,” Mr. Talbert said, with a voice that sounded like he was slightly under duress, “I assure you, my first inclination was to simply hang the nigger and be done with it. However, my employee here implored me to let him keep the nigger and break him as he saw fit. He made me a deal, and despite my better judgment, I allowed him to keep the nigger. Obviously, I regret that decision now, but it's not one I am at liberty to take back.”

The other aristocrat sitting beside the Governor remained mute. He took notes, and occasionally leaned over to whisper something in the Governor's ear, but he never spoke himself.

“I'm sorry, Mr. Talbert,” the Governor said, agitated and confused,
“Why can't you take it back? What's preventing you from going and shooting the nigger in the head right now? Wouldn't that be simpler than calling this meeting during suppertime?”

“It would, sir, but I'm afraid Reverend Lewis is adamantly against the nigger's death.”

The Governor turned an annoyed eye to Reverend Lewis, who sat self-assuredly in his seat.

“Why is this, Reverend Lewis?”

“Because I need him. The nigger is important to me.”

“What could this nigger have that is of any importance to anyone in this room?”

“That nigger can prove that niggers will never be able to rival us. They will never pose a threat to white people, in this society or anyone to come.”

“Reverend Lewis, I've yet to meet a nigger anywhere with any more intellect than the very couch I'm sitting on. You don't need this particular one to prove that to your friends up north...you can pick any one of them. Hell, take one of mine.”

Reverend Lewis tried intently to maintain his calm as he spoke.

“Governor, my counterparts are significantly more humane and civilized than your Southern citizens. We've given niggers a chance to educate themselves, and in a few cases, seen miraculous results. We've seen niggers read and write right before our eyes.”

“The hell you did!” Bradley said, spitting venom at Reverend Lewis. “Ain't never seen no nigger read and write, and I never will! It's just certain things a nigger can't do.”

“Why, Bradley? You can't read, so how can a nigger know how, is that it?”

Bradley jumped out of his seat, breathing fire. “You goddamn nigger lovin' Yankee sonofa—!”

“That's enough!” The Governor yelled loud enough to cut the
argument short. When he was sure he had everyone's attention, he turned to Bradley and spoke with a soft, sympathetic voice. “I was inclined to your beliefs, too, until I took my last trip up north. It's true what he tells you. They have reading and writing and arithmetic-doing niggers up there. I don't know how they do it, but it's a few niggers that know more than a lot of white folk down here.”

As Bradley fought that knowledge, the Governor turned to Reverend Lewis and his sympathy changed to contempt.