Song of Slaves in the Desert - Alan Cheuse [78]
“Tell him which way to go.”
“What?”
“Tell him which way to go. Give him a chance to run away.”
My cousin shook his head.
“He will not get far. The dogs are out looking for him.”
“Give him a chance.”
“He is someone’s property. Should I steal from another man?”
“Think of him as a fish that got away. Let him go along.”
My cousin stared me in the eye, as if appraising my whole self.
“I will show you my good will,” he said, lowering his weapon and squinting at me, as though the bright light of morning had suddenly faded. “I will give you this as a sign of my good faith in our family and business relations.”
Jonathan cleared his throat and looked down at the wretch before us.
“You are running in the wrong direction,” he said. “Head west and when the river turns north keep it to your right and that will take you to the lake, and from there, west a long, long way to the mountains. Can you remember that?”
“If I forgot all I got to do is listen…” The man looked over his shoulder and we all stood a moment listening to the sounds in the distance of howling dogs and the faint shouts of men.
“Go!” a voice burst out.
It was my voice.
“Thank you, massa,” the man said, and he jumped to his feet.
“One more moment!” Jonathan said.
“Cousin, he must be on his way.”
“He will need to do one thing more.”
“And what is that?” I said, seeing the pain and torment on the dark face of the runaway.
“He must needs bow down to me.”
“What?”
Jonathan turned to me and showed me that infernal grin that came before with his laugh. But he was not laughing now.
“You want him to bow?”
“To us,” he said, gesturing with the pistol.
“And then you’ll let him go?”
“I will. It makes no difference…”
“You,” I said to the runaway. “Did you hear him?”
The man nodded.
“Bow down then,” I said. “Hurry.”
“As if to a king,” Jonathan said.
“Is this some horrendous—”
“Bow,” Jonathan cut me off.
The runaway man looked at him and then turned to me.
I nodded.
The man knelt and lowered himself to the ground before my cousin.
My cousin raised his pistol and then lowered it to aim at the prostrate man’s head. A moment or two passed before Jonathan said, “Very well, then. Go.”
The man jumped to his feet and, while Jonathan stood perfectly still and pretended to aim his weapon at him, dashed into the woods.
Frankly, I could not find any words to say about what I had just witnessed.
“Damnation!” Jonathan spit onto the ground.
More moments passed, with the air filled with the barking and howls of approaching dogs.
My cousin seemed to be about to say something to me when a pack of low-slung muscular animals came bursting out of the trees on the other side of the creek, howling as they came. A trio of horsemen followed. The dogs took a moment to run their snouts along the far shore before plunging into the water and surging toward our side and the horsemen behind did not pause as they ripped into the stream, emerging on our shore in a burst of spume and splash just behind the dogs.
But with shouts and roars they reined up just before us while the dogs went rushing off into the woods.
“Where’s he at?” called the wire-haired fellow atop the blue-tinged stallion.
“Langerhans, how are you?” my cousin said. “We were sitting here quietly fishing and look now, you’ve scared all the fish away, I am sure.”
“It’s the Sabbath, you should be home or at church,” Langerhans said, a nasty half-smile on his crooked face. “But then your kind don’t go to church on Sunday, do yiz?”
“We went yesterday,” my cousin said, matching the horseman sneer for sneer. “On our own Sabbath. Think of it, man. Our country, broad and grand enough for each and every man to have a separate Sabbath.” A slight sneer turned his mouth as he spoke. “But you, you are not at prayer now either, are you?”
“Listen, my Hebrew friend,” the patroller said, “I’ll be at prayer tonight thanking the Lord for the bounty on a runaway nigger, that’s for sure.”
“Whose nigger is that?” Jonathan asked.
“You ain’t seen him? Well, you couldn’t have missed him, could you, since he must have splashed