Hunting Midnight

by Richard Zimler

  I kissed her for this kindness, and glimpsed her rubbing her cheek as I stepped out the door.

  *

  So I learned how Midnight had brought on the spells. As to his motivation, it didn’t seem that a slave would need a particular reason to give mad honey to his master. Yet Morri had provided me with one earlier, when she told me that her father had earned her the right to read, as well as gardens for himself and the other slaves, by curing Big Master Henry of the worst of his spells and then threatening never to help him again. Little Master Henry had likely granted further concessions for the same reason.

  Lily always thought the spells got worse by themselves and that the curing honey was all that stood between her master and the grave. She had no reason to doubt Midnight, whose talents as a healer were renowned. He told her when to start using it and when to stop.

  Of course, it might have been possible that the very first spell had been real and had given Midnight the idea for his gambit. In any case, once he had seen how easy it was to produce a grave illness and then effect a cure by withholding the cause, he understood the usefulness of this ruse. He had planted his rhododendrons to have access to the mad honey made from their pollen.

  It was, in fact, a brilliant strategy. Likely he’d regarded it as unfortunate but necessary. And sanctioned by history through the victory of King Mithradates. It would have also been a reminder of the power that honey held in the Bushman culture.

  *

  During my very first talk with Morri, she told me that Big Master Henry had had his way with some of the slave girls for a month prior to his falling victim to a terrible spell. A sudden spark in her eyes – which she tried to hide from me by gazing down – led me to believe that she had been one of his victims. Even if she had kept this a secret from everyone, her father would likely have guessed from some subtle change in her bearing.

  This was motivation enough for Midnight to commit murder, as I saw it, as was the cutting of his heel-strings. Yet I didn’t believe he had done either killing. For if he had sought to end either Big or Little Master Henry’s life, he merely would have had to increase the dosage of honey or add a more potent poison to Lily’s lemonade.

  When I mentioned the possibility that Mistress Holly had committed the murders to Crow and Lily, they replied that it was impossible. They assured me that she’d cowered in front of her husband like a whipped dog. Lily also told me that the Mistress had been so fond of her ne’er-do-well son that she would have laid down her life for him without a moment’s hesitation.

  It seemed possible that up to three different people were involved in the murders: Midnight to bring on the spells with the mad honey and one or two others to plunge knives into Big and Little Master Henry.

  If, in the first case, the perpetrator had been Mistress Holly, then her husband would not have cried out upon seeing her in his room. Though likely the murderer had stabbed him at the height of one of his spells, when he was delirious, and he therefore might not have been able to cry out the killer’s name, whoever he or she was.

  Unless he was already dead prior to the use of the blade and it had been used merely to divert suspicion from poisoning. That seemed to me likely, except that Crow had said that a great deal of blood had soaked into the victims’ shirts. If they had been dead for even half an hour, I did not believe this would have been the case.

  Perhaps the second murder had been the handiwork of Mistress Anne, who seemed to me a lady of thwarted hopes and vengeance, carrying all the rage her mother had never dared to express.

  *

  I’d had little reason to seek out Mr. Johnson previous to these discoveries, but I now went to him in the fields to see if he might have any ideas on the matter.

  “I’ve nothing to tell you, sir” was all he would answer with regard to the murders. In the stern compression of his lips I could see he might have liked to thrash me for questioning him about such a delicate matter. The obvious had yet to occur to me – that he regarded himself as partly responsible, since the day-to-day running of the plantation was under his command.

  “Do you believe one of the slaves capable of having committed the murders?” I asked.

  “I would believe none of them incapable.”

  “And Mistress Holly?”

  He bristled. “What are you suggesting, Mr. Stewart?”

  “Only that she was gravely unhappy.”

  “I can’t rightly see how that concerns you. No, I can’t see that at all.”

  His stance had changed to one of defiance, and I could plainly see that I had made an enemy. I apologized quickly and walked back to the Big House.

  *

  From my window, I spotted Morri returning home late that night, near the stroke of twelve. As she whispered good night to Weaver on the gravel driveway by the piazza, I realized what I’d previously refused to admit – that speaking with her would prove useless. She had told me so much in passing the day before, but I saw now, in the way she gazed slowly around the plantation, how hard it would be for her to leave this place without her father. Particularly as it was the only home she had ever known.

  Sitting on my bed, listening to the ratcheting sound of the crickets and the hooting of a far-off owl, all the night seemed to be telling me, Several lives are depending on you. You can work things out if you go slowly….

  I decided then that it would be best for me to join Isaac and Luisa for a few days. This would give Morri an opportunity to consider her destiny without my wishes playing havoc with her emotions. Also, I would prevail upon Luisa to return with me and speak to Morri. I was sure that she would have a much better chance of convincing the girl to leave River Bend than I did, that no argument I could ever come up with would be nearly as eloquent as Luisa’s freedom itself.

  *

  Staying with Luisa and Isaac – having time to think in congenial surroundings – only made me realize that I had no choice but to defy Morri’s wishes and offer Edward every penny in my possession for her, even if she did not want to be bought. If he refused to sell her, I would find a way to steal her. I would undoubtedly need help, but Luisa had already mentioned that she and Isaac had hidden runaways before, and I felt certain that I could count on them.

  I remained with Isaac and Luisa for three and a half days, and on the last morning Isaac proposed a way to get Morri away from the plantation without arousing suspicion – so I could talk to her calmly and wear down her opposition.

  “Just lease her,” he said.

  “I don’t understand.”

  “Slaves are leased out by their masters to do all sorts of work – as stevedores, seamstresses, cooks … Tell Edward that you want to lease Morri for a week or two to help you travel around the plantations of the Low Country. Offer him fifty dollars for her and another fifty for use of one of his carriages. He will accept. Then you will have plenty of time to convince her and you’ll not have to force her to do anything. You can bring her to our home and Luisa will talk to her about the differences between slavery and freedom. It’ll be quiet here, and we can all get to know one another.”

  Luisa was in agreement. We even dared to regard it as a foolproof plan.

  LII

  Seventeen Lives in My Hands

  Master Edward called me into the tea room with a nasty shout just before noon on Thursday. His voice was so loud I thought maybe he’d crack some of the crystal I’d just dusted. John, who’d come back late that morning to River Bend, was with him.

  “Morri, I have a rather exciting proposition for you,” the Master said. “Mr. Stewart would like to lease you for a week or so, to help him orient himself in the Low Country. It would involve some travel. There would be a five-dollar wage in it for you. I daresay that we could spare you without too much suffering around here.” He smirked at me. “What do you say to that?”

  He was so full of himself that you’d have thought he’d won election to the State Legislature. He looked too happy for this to be good for me, and I ought to have kn
own that some cold-as-death plan was hiding inside him.

  “I ain’t got no desire to leave, Master Edward. I’d shawly prefuh to stay here at River Bend, if it’s all the same to you.”

  “You know I can order you, but Mr. Stewart and I would both prefer that you agree to go.”

  “Would you mind my saying a word?” John asked.

  “No, no,” Master Edward replied, “go right ahead, sir.”

  “Morri,” he said, “I assure you that I truly want your help. I believe you might even appreciate the adventure. And Edward and I both agree that you are the person most qualified.”

  “Mr. Stewart would like to set out with you on Saturday,” the Master added. “But you’ll have to come up to Comingtee on Sunday because there’s a supper we’ve planned. It’s going to be a big party. I’m sure you’ll like being there.”

  It was plainly the first time John had heard about the fete. Master Edward explained to him that some planter families were getting together. “We’re counting on you coming,” he said.

  “I’d be honored.”

  Edward the Cockerel turned to me and gave me a stern look. “So, Morri, I’m expecting you to travel with Mr. Stewart on Saturday. Then on Sunday afternoon you’ll come up to Comingtee with us all and help in the kitchen. Monday, you’ll be back with Mr. Stewart, this time for a week or so.”

  “I ain’t sure.”

  “What aren’t you sure about?”

  “If I’s going with him.”

  “I don’t mind telling you that I’m mighty disappointed in you, girl. I rightly thought you’d be pleased to get this opportunity. If I have to, I’ll order you with the lash. How’d you like twenty? You hear that, you silly nigger girl?”

  *

  I sat in my room trying my best to think what to do, but it was like I was stuck in a big old chimney without any light – no way up and no way down. I couldn’t think of how to make John not take me along with him without telling him about us running away. Just for once I wished I had the power to say no. When I got the right to say that one simple word up North, I didn’t know if I was ever going to say yes to anything ever again.

  *

  John came to me an hour later, while I was ironing in Lily’s room, just upstairs from the kitchen. He apologized for Master Edward’s rudeness and said that he had hoped I’d be pleased to leave the plantation for a week or so.

  Holding tight to all my years of anger, I said, “You don’t know anything about me or River Bend. You’re just a stranger here. And you come in meddling and everything, thinking you know what’s what. But you don’t. You don’t know what an infernal mess you’re making just by being here. Now, I’m not about to change my mind, so don’t you go trying to make me. Because even if you have me whipped, I won’t agree to leave with you. I’m not about to go traipsing across the countryside with you or any other white man. And now,” I said, picking up my iron and sliding it along a collar, “I got plenty of work to do. So just you let me and everybody else be. I know you were fond of my papa, and I know he was fond of you, but he’s long gone. He might even be dead. And I’m not him, so just leave me be. Just leave me be right now!”

  I made myself as mud-mean as I could, because he’d proven himself more stubborn than I’d thought he was. With only three days and nights till Sunday, I had no time left to talk nice to a white man, no matter who he was. I had seventeen lives in my hands.

  When he wouldn’t budge, I screamed like a banshee at him. “Don’t you understand what I’m saying? We don’t want you at River Bend. I don’t want you here. Get out and find yourself someone else to buy!”

  *

  That night, after supper, Master Edward had Crow call me into his study, where he asked for my decision. “I ain’t goin’ nowhere. I gots to get my work done here at River Bend and that’s what I aim on doin’.”

  “And what if I were to call Mr. Johnson?”

  “Then you go on ahead and do your callin’.”

  He stomped out of the room like he was trying to push his big ugly boots straight through the floor. I ran to Lily, because I was frightened.

  Next thing that happened was that Copper, one of the black foremen, rushed into the kitchen behind Mr. Johnson, murder in his eyes. Lily was standing in front of me as a shield, but Copper threw her into the cabinet where she kept her pans and grabbed me by the wrist. I tried kicking him, and so did Lily, but he caught my leg and lifted me right up over his shoulder.

  Lily was screaming now, but Mr. Johnson slapped her so hard she fell to the ground with a shriek. While she was lying there, he kicked her twice in the gut. “You don’t defy me, you useless nigger sow!” he shouted.

  Copper hauled me out to the yard, where he and the other foreman tied me to the whipping barrel.

  “Are you going with Mr. Stewart on Saturday?” Master Edward snarled.

  “I ain’t goin’ nowhere with nobody!” I shouted.

  In that moment before the lash cuts into your hope, you think you’ve got the strength to defy it. You think your righteous anger is so rock hard that it’s going to make you invincible. And you think you ain’t your body. No, the you that’s important is deep inside, where nobody can reach it. But what you forget is that even the biggest wall of determination crumbles to dust when it’s pounded enough. When it does, you find you ain’t so deep inside your body as you thought. No, you’re right there on the surface, where your skin is coming off in burning strips. You’re nothing but the pain itself and you hate it more even than you hate the white man doing the lashing.

  “Give her twenty to start with, Mr. Johnson,” Master Edward ordered.

  I gritted my teeth. The first stroke cut the air. It didn’t hurt so bad – just stung like a wasp. I thought I could make it to twenty without peeing all over myself.

  “Two …”

  That one singed. I let out a shriek.

  “Three …”

  I felt my anger running clean away, hopelessness rising up to meet the next lash.

  “Four …”

  I let go all over the barrel and my legs. I couldn’t help the tears from coming now. And I couldn’t catch enough breath.

  “Five …”

  The whip hit bone. I pictured Lily hanging on to that cross of hers. I thought of God. I begged Him for help. I began to recite a verse from one of my favorite Psalms: … the snare is broken and we are escaped … the snare is broken –

  “Six …”

  “Please stop, Master Edward,” I moaned. “Please stop.”

  “Seven …”

  I imagined my whole self was coming off – in bloody bits.

  “Please let Morri go, Mastuh Edwood,” Crow shouted. “You whip me instead.”

  “Eight …”

  I was weeping now. Then I shrieked for help as loud as I could. And I hollered what he wanted: “I’ll go with Mr. Stewart!”

  Mr. Johnson stopped, but Master Edward ordered him to pay me no mind and keep on going. What I didn’t realize is that he wasn’t truly punishing me for defying him at all. No, sir, he had another, better reason for hurting me good and he was enjoying this.

  “Nine …”

  By now I was tugging something fierce at my bindings and crying out to God and Mantis and Papa. And I kept on shrieking for them, but no one would come.

  “Ten …”

  Crow begged again for Master Edward to lash him instead of me. I knew he was offering himself not just for me, but out of loyalty to my papa. But his voice was far off. Then I heard him grunt. I think Master Edward must have kicked him in the belly. I couldn’t get enough air to scream so loud anymore. Which was damned good, because it meant I’d faint soon. I was hoping that Copper wouldn’t throw water on me to wake me up.

  “Eleven …”

  Eleven didn’t fall. By turning my head, I could see Mr. Johnson on the ground, his face in the dirt. He was getting to his feet real slow, but revenge was in his eyes.

  “Whoa there!” Master Edward shouted. “Ju
st wait a minute, Mr. Johnson!”

  I could hear a scuffle and men yelling. When I faced forward again, I saw a shadow crossing in front of me. I thought it was my papa’s.

  *

  I must have fainted sure enough, because when I woke up I was facedown in my own bed and Lily was smoothing some fat onto my back.

  “Ya gonna be jes’ fine, baby,” she was saying.

  I turned to look at her. Her left eye was puffy and nearly closed.

  “Can’t see nuttin’ outta mah left one anyways.” She lifted a glass of water to my lips. Crow was there too, standing back from the bed. In a voice hopping with righteousness, the likes of which I hadn’t heard coming out of him in years, he explained to me that Mr. Stewart had dashed down from his bedroom when he heard me screaming and run straight for Mr. Johnson and knocked him hard in the dirt, threatening to kill him if he ever touched me again.

  “Ooh, baby,” Lily said, “dat man was rattlesnek mad!”

  Crow added that Mr. Johnson had wanted to fight a duel with Mr. Stewart right then and there, but Master Edward had calmed him down and sent him to his cottage. As he was leaving, he apparently gave me one more lash just to be spiteful.

  “And Mr. Stewart?”

  Lily replied that he’d been here to see me already, had been right where she was sitting. He’d wanted to make sure I was still alive. He had already spoken to Master Edward and was back in his bedroom now.

  “What did Edward the Cockerel say to him?”

  “He bawled him out at first, for hittin’ Mr. Johnson,” said Crow. “Then they drank some whiskey and ever’t’ing was jes’ fine.”

  “And nobody’s told about us?”