Song of Slaves in the Desert - Alan Cheuse [41]
Awake, Lyaa! they called. Awake and hide!
Awake and run! Others called back.
Awake, awake!
Come!
Hurry!
Run!
Go!
Alas, she did not understand the language of the animals, knew only that something important had happened.
Or something terrible was happening.
She sat with her ailing mother, listening to the disruption in the trees. Not until—yes! no!—she heard the rush of men hurrying along the path, and heard the clank of the chains they carried, heard the sound even though the chains lay muffled in large sacks slung over the traders’ shoulders, did she try to urge her mother to her feet.
“Go,” her mother said, so deep in her whispery voice that it seemed as though she spoke from another realm.
“You must stand and come with me,” Lyaa said.
“Go,” her mother urged her, and then closed her eyes, closed her lips.
Men shouted, women screamed, and children screeched and howled.
Go! The voice echoed in Lyaa’s mind.
She glanced down one last time at her supine mother, ran out into the light, and kept on running, running, beyond the village clearing, into the woods, along the creek. It was not until she reached the edge of the big forest that, hungry for breath, she paused, and then raced forward again, hearing now the pounding feet of pursuers breaking through the forest behind her.
Yemaya! Yemaya!
“Run!” A woman’s voice behind her urged her on.
Run!
Turning in the hope of catching a glimpse of how close the people hunters might be, she tripped on a root and fell forward, slamming her shoulder against a tree trunk that even though it bent with her weight was still large enough to bounce her back and send her catapulting off the path.
A moment later two men rushed past, chains clanking in the sacks at their shoulders.
She inched up above the grass and watched them disappear into the woods.
Oh, Mother! Oh, Yemaya! Might she be safe now? Slowly she pulled herself to her feet, touching the raw place where her shoulder had hit the tree. She felt tears rising in her belly even as she bent over and spit up liquid and air. Safe? Where was her family? What should she do now?
The monkeys overhead had quieted down and this gave her pause. Perhaps the raiders had moved past the village, though if so she feared they might have left for dead those who resisted. In spite of herself, she called up the image of her father/uncle, the man who had made her life a little prison in itself. If anyone had been hurt, she hoped, hoped so hard she began to double over again with belly pain, may it have been him!
When she pulled herself upright once more she started back in the direction of the village, walking slowly, tentatively, alert to every sound in the woods around her, the chirping of the monkeys, the call of birds, the rustle of leaves as she brushed past plants and low trees. It sounded as though the terror that had driven her to run so fast and far had ended. Her heart settled down. She whispered prayerful thanks to Yemaya, and in a deeper part of her cursed the desert sky god who allowed those slave traders to live and track poor human beings such as herself and her family.
“Lyaa!”
Her father/uncle hailed her as she stepped into the clearing.
Never, ever could she have imagined she would feel so happy to see this man whom she despised!
She walked toward him as he gestured, which she took to mean that he was happy to see her, too.
And all of a sudden the world went black, she fell forward, or was pushed, and couldn’t catch her breath.
“And the cattle?”
Her father/uncle’s voice boomed above her where she lay sprawled, a cloth tied tightly over her head, on the sandy ground of the compound.
“You will have them tomorrow, you have my word.” This was a voice she didn’t recognize. One of the slavers! Or not?
“You take these people now and you give me your word you will bring the goods in return tomorrow?”
“You have my word.”
“Do I?”
“My word, for God.”
“Your god or mine?”
The slaver spat, and Lyaa could feel him stamp a step past her.
“Is that a curse?”
“Never,” her father/uncle said.