Song of Slaves in the Desert - Alan Cheuse [87]
“We did the cleaning over the water,” Isaac said. “Now the master here sends it on the flatboat and they clean it in the city. And sell it from there. What we don’t keep. This makes for a difference from the way we did it in Africa. ’Course I have never been in Africa. This is just what I hear from old folks in the cabins.”
Isaac sighed, allowing me a glimpse of the defenseless side of him, because, to be sure, up until now, he had been all bravado and strength.
“Nothing here is much anymore like it was across the water, from what I hear,” he said. “Beginning with the slavery.”
“Come, come,” I said, hearing—how strange—my father’s voice in my own, “I know from my studies of events there is slavery in Africa. Many, many thousands of slaves were captured by Arab traders and by your own people and then sold into bondage a second time.”
Isaac lowered his head as if he had immediately to inspect our shoe-tops.
“Yes, yes, I hear about it, I do. But I don’t know which is the worst, slavery by our own or slavery by another.”
“They are equally despicable,” I said.
His head jerked back and he looked wide-eyed.
“That is what you say about slavery?”
The man belonged to my uncle, and I was a guest down here, and so I did not want to become embroiled in anything that might initiate a family squabble.
I said, “We came here to talk about the rice. Tell me more about the threshing, Isaac,” I said.
“Yes, the rice. We brought it here, we grow it for you.”
He gathered himself together, shook his head and turned and went walking along the berm.
“Isaac?”
“You got to have great patience to grow the rice, massa,” he said over his shoulder.
“Tell me more,” I said, walking along behind him.
But he was silent.
A few moments later we arrived at the place in the berm where the dam-doors made of woven vines and flat slabs of wood stood against the inflow of the creek water, to be opened when it was necessary to bring in more water, closed to keep the briny creek water out when the tidal flush splashed upstream.
“See that?”
He pointed to the creek, widening here in a bend as the water flowed sluggishly against the berm.
I thought I saw something moving in the water and my first thought was that another runaway was crossing over. And then I decided it was a downed tree trunk.
Until I saw the yellow eyes in the elongated mossy green skull raise up just above the surface of the moving stream.
“What is he waiting for?” I said, making out the rest of the alligator now that I could see him.
Before he could answer, some five slaves came splashing along the creek bed, staves and metal tools in hand. The beast no sooner turned its mossy head when they attacked it, and its tail slashed back and forth churning the water to almost complete froth, and it roared, oh, Lord, it roared!
“Why are they doing that, Isaac?”
“For the meat,” Isaac said.
Before it was over, two slaves went down into the water, moaning and screaming, but the other three, with great bellowing themselves, and raising staves and fists beat the beast to death, and hauled it on shore. My heart nearly stopped at the sight of all the blood smeared on the black skin of these men, on the rough greenish hide of the dead beast. These peaceful souls, so enchained, could wreak murder if they cared to. The best of me thought it was good that they could conquer a monster such as they had. The worst of me feared they might sometime unleash their fury on their masters.
Chapter Thirty-six
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Voices in My Ear
A Song
Massa sleeps in de feather bed
Nigger sleeps on de floor,
When we’uns go to Heaven,
Dey’ll be no slaves no mo’…
Chapter Thirty-seven
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Raven Dream
That evening I retired early and while the moon rose outside my window I slipped into sleep on the wings of the fantasy that my father would invest in this enterprise and I would thus set everyone free. As I pursued this line further, imagining myself saying to Liza that now she might linger awhile in the house as a free woman I heard