She didn’t move. He was frustrated at the one-sided conversation, but continued talking just the same: silence was even more aggravating. “And if yer naked, then I can be, too! It’s too hot fer clothes, and I do not want to put on wet pants, even if I could get them on.” He picked up the pants, twisted and squeezed out as much of the water as he could, shook them out, and pulled them back into shape. Before he could get to the shirt, she grabbed it. She put it back in the water, grabbed a fistful of sand, and started rubbing it into the heavily stained spots. “Okay, I’ll let ye finish yer task. I thank ye fer volunteerin’. Now, if ye dinna have any objections—and ye dinna seem to object to much of anythin’ I do or say—then I’m goin’ to bed.”
Benji strutted to the area he had designated as his bedroom, his bare butt flashing white against his dark, tanned forearms. With what could be called falling with grace or dropping with attitude, he embraced the cloth-covered ground and fell asleep. The last thought in his head was he hoped she kept the fire smoldering, and that the smoke continued to blow toward him. He had a large buffet exposed to the creekside mosquitoes, and he knew they didn’t care to dine in the smoking area.
20 Breakfast of Champions
August 20, 1782
B enji was rudely awakened by a fly making an unauthorized landing in his nostril. He snorted and popped up, wildly smacking the air around him, trying to create a hostile environment for the overpopulation of skin diving, biting pests. When his hand flapping and sputtering were finished, and the flies had left, he remembered where he was: camping outside in the North Carolina woods. He looked down and saw that he had slept naked on the sheet of green, tan, and olive. Why? Right: his camping gear had been stolen and his clothes were wet, drying on a bush just over there and… “Oh, crap,” he said under his breath. He had forgotten about when he was. Then he saw the naked black woman kneeling by the flat rock next to the fire pit. “Oh, shit!” he said even louder.
He blew out his breath in exasperation. “Now this is a fine mess you’ve gotten us into, Ollie,” he said in a spot on imitation of Stan Laurel. “Yeah, if only this really was an old black and white comedy that I could jest walk away from.” He stared over at the woman who was aware that he was awake, but who still wouldn’t look at him. “Weel, I guess it is a black and white story. I mean, they dinna get much whiter than me, at least on the belly, and I dinna think I’ve ever seen anyone as black as ye. It sure is a pretty color, too: kinda like a cup of French roast coffee.” He sighed. A cup of coffee would sure be nice right now, but he’d have to settle for using his hands to scoop up creek water for his morning drink.
“Up and at ‘em, boys,” he said as he rolled over and stood up. Benji also had good peripheral vision and saw that she was stealing glances over at him, and not at his face, either. He looked down and saw that, yes, he had early morning stiffness, just like every other morning. “I told ye the water was cold,” he said to her with a grin, covered himself with his hand and wrist, and walked toward the area he had designated as the men’s room to relieve himself.
The woman flinched and bent forward, crouched and huddled to protect herself, as he passed by her on his way to the bushes.
“Dinna worry, this isna fer ye,” he said as he glanced down at his handful of engorged male member. “It’s jest that I have a full bladder and slept verra well. It’ll be gone shortly. Or will be shorter shortly,” he chuckled.
Benji grabbed his pants off of the bush on the way back and shook them out, making sure ants or hornets or any other critters hadn’t taken up residence in them. He put them on then grabbed the shirt, employing the same insect inspection and dislodging method. He left it unbuttoned though. Maybe he could let her use the shirt. It was better than the humiliating scrap of leather she currently was wearing.
Ye’d better not, he argued with himself. Remember ‘when’ ye are. If ye run around without a shirt, it would be scandalous. A slave without clothes probably jest means her master doesna have much fer money, or that she’s fresh off the boat, or maybe she’s a field hand and doesna need clothes. It’s still summer, after all.
But it’s indecent and disgraceful; or should be. The shirt would be better than nothing, even if it only went down to mid-thigh on her. At least her fanny and breasts would be covered.
And how do ye think ye’d be received in the next town, any town, ye jest struttin’ in without yer shirt and a slave woman wearin’ it? Come on, dinna let yer 21st century ethics ruin yer chances to blend in. Yer here to find yer grandfather and Evie. If ye have to do somethin’ distasteful, then do it. It wouldna be the first time.
“Weel, hopefully it will be the last time,” he said out loud. His voice startled the woman. He’d been having a conversation in his head and didn’t realize that his last resolute words had come out so strongly. “Sorry, I guess it’s better when I talk out loud all the time. Ye dinna seem to mind hearin’ my thoughts.”
Rather than answer—and he knew that she wouldn’t—she held out her hand. Her coral pink palm held what looked like a vegetable meatball. She still wouldn’t look him in the eyes, but dipped her head and moved her hand toward him, urging him to take the food.
Benji looked over at the impromptu kitchen counter and saw that she had made six of the ‘greenballs.’ “I’ll tell ye what,” he said, then started embellishing his words with sign language. “Ye eat one, and then I’ll try one. I dinna think ye mean to poison me, but jest to make sure. And I ken ye see me.” He picked up one of the ‘greenballs’ between his thumb and forefinger and held it under her humbled face, moving it back and forth under her nose in encouragement.
She lifted her head, stuck her chin out, and opened her mouth, keeping her eyes down. Benji placed the food in her open maw and watched as she chewed carefully, a small smile of enjoyment at the taste creeping in before the blank, unemotional mask came back to retake its residency there.
“Ye ken, ye look verra pretty when ye smile. Okay, here, I’ll try one,” he said, then picked up a green foodstuff and popped it into his mouth. He chewed cautiously, not knowing whether he was getting mushy or hard fare. As it was, it was chewy and sweet at times. “This almost tastes like sweet and sour chicken,” he said, and picked up another one and put it in his mouth. “Here, go aheid, there’s plenty.” He pointed to the food. “I dinna think I need to be feedin’ ye. I appreciate the cookin’, but yer a big girl and can eat by yerself. That is, unless ye like it when I feed ye?”
The woman reached over, took one more of the greenballs, and turned away from him, as if to end the conversation. “What, did I say somethin’ to offend ye? I mean, yer a good cook and all.” Benji took another one and wolfed it down. “What’s in this, or do I want to ken?” and pointed to the last one, then opened his hand in a gesture of what is it?
The woman started giggling which surprised him. “What?” he asked insistently. He knew she could tell what he was saying by his tone: no translation required.
In answer, the woman peeled apart the little foodstuff wrapped in what looked to be softened grape or currant leaf. Inside were crushed raspberries and big beetle grubs. Benji gasped then grabbed his mouth, but it was too late to spit out the food. He had already chewed and swallowed three of them. “Weel, I may hate bugs and creepy crawlies, but maybe the best way to get back at them is to eat them. These are mighty tasty, although it might be better if ye dinna show me what’s in the food ye prepare next time—even if I ask.” He nodded his head, “I think I’d enjoy the meal more if I wasna aware of the ingredients. Here, ye can have the last one.” He pointed to the food, not wanting to touch it. “Ye need to keep up yer strength. And ye could use a bit more meat on yer bones, too,” he said with a straight face, “even if ye have to eat bugs to do it.”
Benji went to the creek, drank his fill of water, and did a thorough tooth brushing with a split twig he had cut just for that purpose. He didn’t want any leftovers stuck between his teeth. He headed back up to the campsite and saw the woman s
haking out the ground cloth. “Hey, wait,” he called. She stopped immediately and dropped her head in submission. He ran up the rise and started thinking out loud. “This will work jest fine fer a dress of sorts fer ye. I mean, it isna as fancy as the sarongs that those Polynesian ladies wear, but it’s much better than what ye have now.”
The woman was unresponsive. “Duh,” he said, “of course ye dinna ken what I’m speaking of. Here, stand like this.” He put both arms straight out to his side. She glanced at him, unsure of what he wanted, but certain that she should do what he asked.
He found the corner of the long edge and came close to her, meaning to wrap it around her. She cringed and brought her arms back to her sides and hunched over. “Ah, ticklish are ye?” he laughed, intentionally ignoring her fear of him. “Here, I think ye ken what I meant to do. Here, here,” he urged, finally grasping her hand and putting the fabric in it.
She cut her eyes to him then looked down at the fabric, running it through her fingers, making her decision. She would accept clothing from him. At least, she didn’t think he wanted to have his way with her in return. He didn’t seem to be that sort of man. She wrapped the cloth around her bosom then straightened her posture, suddenly feeling better about herself and her lot.
“Ye look mighty fine,” he announced with pride, glad that he had found a solution to the modesty and morals dilemma. He walked around her, looked at her back, and frowned. “The gown willna bother the wounds on yer back, but I think ye should let me help ye wash. Ye have a bit of an infection starting there,” he said as he gently touched the skin next to an area that was not only red and swollen, but still had a bit of foreign matter imbedded in it.
She flinched at his touch and resumed her former subservient, head and shoulders bowed position. She was wrong: he did want her body for his pleasure.
Benji could see what she was thinking. “Ye ken, I think yer a lovely lass, but I wouldna take advantage of my position, or whatever it is, and have my way with ye. I mean,” he stuttered, “I ken that masters figure that all parts of their slaves are theirs to do what they want with, I mean, I ken the reason the African Americans of my time are so pale is because the masters bred with the slave women. Ye hardly see anyone in America with skin as dark and beautiful as yers.”
Benji’s talking was working. Even if she didn’t know what he was saying, she had figured out that he wasn’t trying to have sex with her. “But I’m not yer master, not really. Come on; let’s get going. I think we need to get to the next town.” He looked around and saw his sporran sitting on the rock by the fire. He kicked apart the residual coals and motioned for her to come with him.
“I ken ye like to walk behind me, but I’d feel better about it if I dinna have to turn around to see ye when we’re talkin’.” He exaggerated the head-turning-back motion and added a crazy, eye rolling, tongue hanging out the side of his mouth gesture of frustration. “Please; it would help my neck if ye were beside me.” He rubbed the back of his neck and gave her sad puppy dog eyes, then stuck out his bottom lip.
She quickly glanced at him and her slight smile returned. She didn’t move though.
“Okay, okay,” he said with mock exaggerated frustration. “If I have to come back there to walk with ye, I will.” He took six steps back—she had been walking closer today than yesterday, he noticed—then put his elbow out as if escorting her. She shook her head almost imperceptively. “Ready, set, go,” he said then took off walking, elbow still extended. She was now only two steps behind him. Well, he could live with that. Maybe she’d catch up to him by afternoon.
Benji started talking to her again. It seemed to make her more comfortable, and it definitely relaxed him. When he was talking out loud about inane subjects, he wasn’t thinking of his past or what he was going to do with his future.
“Ye ken,” he began, “I have that money ye helped me earn. I mean to buy a bit of food, a pot, and a couple of dishes with it, and maybe some cotton fer a dress fer ye. I mean, I dinna mind ye wearin’ my bed, but it has lots of other uses, too. I can use it as a tent and its good camouflage, too, fer huntin’ or hidin’. I can throw it over me—and ye, too, of course—and we’ll jest blend right into the countryside. Ye see, it hides the color of our faces and clothes, makes us hard to see. Hey, did ye ken that in my time, skin color doesna make a difference to people? People of all colors work together, are friends, and even, um, more. I mean they get married…” He paused then started up again. “And slavery was abolished, or will be, in about,” Benji started counting on his fingers, “eighty-three years from now, more or less.” His excitement was waning as he realized that whether he stayed here and now, or went back to his family in the 21st century, she would still be here as a slave. Suddenly, he didn’t feel like talking any more.
Ж
It was only an hour’s walk to the edge of the two-tavern town. “Weel, if there’re two taverns, then there’s bound to be at least one store down the way that has what we need. Let’s keep walkin’. And stay close to me. I dinna like the way people are gawkin’ at us.”
People had indeed come out from the two drinking and eating establishments that were across the dusty street from each other. He was used to being stared at, sort of, but this was different. One person would come out of a bar, then quickly go back in, bringing several more people with him. He felt as if the two of them were the Fourth of July parade and here he’d been caught without the flag.
Out of the corners of his eyes he could see the fingers pointing, the whispering between the men and even a couple of women. A small black boy was sent scurrying down the road, literally kicked in the seat of his pants by the tall, pock-faced man with a pistol stuck in his belt. Almost too late, Benji realized what was wrong besides the gun. Belts weren’t commonplace here and now. The man’s belt seemed to be solely for the purpose of showing off the fact that he was carrying a gun.
Benji slowed his pace just a little to allow the woman to catch up with him, but she slowed, too. Now was definitely not the time to ask her to please do anything. He glanced back and saw that she was back in full blown, cowed and bowed, slave mode. Perhaps it was her survival instinct kicking in. He knew that his was sure on full alert.
They finally arrived at a store with a haphazard array of fabric bolts and various shapes and sizes of pots in the window. Not much for a display, he thought, but it got the message across: he knew what the store sold. He tipped his head in greeting to a woman as she exited the little mercantile emporium. She gasped in shock at his size—that was no surprise—but he saw she wore the look of absolute fear when she saw his traveling companion. And here he thought he was the reason for all the whispers and finger pointing.
The store clerk had the same reaction to the two of them. Benji turned around and saw his new charge had decided that it was her place to stay outside, waiting by the door, not inside with the white folks.
“Good mornin’ to ye,” Benji said in greeting to the wide-eyed elderly gentleman. “I’ve come fer some items. And it looks like ye may jest be the man to help me.”
Benji spouted off his memorized list of goods. The man quickly, quietly, and efficiently pulled the items off the shelves or out of the barrels. The man never spoke a word until Benji asked him how much it cost. “Well, I’d be smart to tell you twice what its worth and take your money while I can, but I really don’t like Mr. Jonathan. You see, he makes us pay him just to do business here in ‘his’ town. He takes up to half of what all of us make; just how much depends on how’s he’s feeling and whether he’s been lucky at the gaming tables or not. So, let’s call this an even dollar. That’ll be just that much less that he’ll get. Oh, and by the way, he’s going to want her back, too.” He nodded to the woman outside the doorway. “He doesn’t like to lose his property, whether it was a fair bet or not.”
“I thank ye fer the heads up,” Benji said, then noticed the confused look on the man’s face. “I mean, thank ye fer the warnin’ and have a good day.” Benji
set the money down, gathered his rucksack of food and dishes, and placed the bolt of blue calico under his arm. He was ready to leave the store then stopped. “Do ye happen to have any candy, like peppermint sticks or lemon drops?” he asked.
The clerk brought out three jars from under the counter. “Penny candy,” he said and looked up and out the door at the black female sentinel. She was a slave, but he could also see by the set of her chin that she was guarding her master. “Why don’t you take a couple for her,” he suggested, “free of charge.”
“Weel, I’ll do that, but I wanted some peppermints fer me.” He ran his tongue around the inside of his mouth. He couldn’t taste the meal, but the thought of eating bugs for breakfast was still uneasy in his head. He wanted some peppermint to suck on before the uneasiness hit his stomach.
The man scooped out a few of each kind of candy and placed them on small squares of old newspapers. Benji grabbed one of the mints and popped it in his mouth before the storeowner wrapped up the little parcels. He nodded and smiled at Benji as he gave them to him. “Be careful,” he warned, then picked up his feather duster and started dusting the shelves, as if no one was there.
Benji walked out the door and looked up and down the street. He didn’t say anything to—or even look directly at—the woman, but he knew she would follow him wherever he went, at least as long as they were near this spooky town. He never went looking for trouble; well, not usually, but it felt as if it had found him today. The eerie feeling, the threat of danger, was as tangible as stickiness on tree sap. He couldn’t get out of this town fast enough.
“I say, what’re you doin’ with my nigger?” a loud and demanding voice boomed from behind him.
Benji’s first reaction was to throw a punch. That word always raised the hairs on the back of his neck. He bit down on the peppermint piece in his mouth, glad that he had a focus for the tension he felt throughout his whole body. He stayed his course, though, walking the same pace and in the same direction, not wanting to give the town troublemaker the satisfaction of calling him out.
The Great Big Fairy Page 15
