Tangled Passion

by Stanley Ejingiri

  “Some boat?” Nathan queried sarcastically.

  “Yes, some ghost boat, I hear,” Bushwacker replied.

  “Ghost boat, what exactly are you talking about?” Nathan asked, he didn't like anything that messed with his reasoning or disrupted a perfectly logical pattern.

  “It’s actually a rumour’ there is no proof. The slaves say there is one but there isn’t any reason to believe that any one of the slaves that escaped were rescued by this ghost boat,” Bushwacker said, trying to calm the young man. He’d seen the sudden contortion on Nathan’s face and knew immediately that he wasn’t the type you shared ghost stories with.

  “How close are those islands, I mean the ones where slavery has been abolished?” Nathan asked.

  “Haiti, I hear is about seven hundred and sixty miles away—a few days journey from here …”

  “OK,” Nathan said, interrupting Bushwacker without any apologies.

  “In either case, however, whether the escaping slave chooses to go up Morne Turner or to continue to the other islands, there is a mandatory waiting period. If they choose the easier option; to go up Morne Turner, they’d have to cross two active plantations in order to get to the pickup point,” Bushwacker explained, though on his last drop of patience for Nathan’s unending questions. “Once at the active plantations, the escaping slaves would be assisted by the other slaves working on those plantations. They do everything to conceal the escapees, feed them, and help them get to the pickup point. The slaves on the active plantations never turn in escaping slaves because they fear the wrath of the Rastafarians.”

  “Why? Why do they fear the Rast…”

  “Rasta-fa-rians,” Bushwacker picked the first half of the word out of Nathan’s mouth and completed it. “Well, these Rastafarians it is rumoured, have the tendency to sneak into those active plantations and join the slaves who work there without being noticed…”

  “Why, why would they risk that?” Nathan asked.

  “Just to get gossip, find out what’s going on, and identify which one of the slaves has been uncooperative in assisting escaping slaves and many more other reasons.”

  “And if the slaves choose to head to the Dublanc River?” Nathan asked. He feared that with each second that passed Ashana was slipping farther and farther away from him.

  “Well if the escaping slave chooses to head to another island, then they are on their own; they have a longer, more tedious road to travel, which makes it a lot easier for us to catch them. They’ll have to travel solely through the bush and only in darkness.” Bushwacker said.

  “About the boat; who operates it and how does it know when an escaping slave or slaves needed to be picked up?” Nathan asked, still trying to solve the puzzle that was getting more and more complicated in his head.

  “Although I haven’t seen this mysterious boat, it is believed to arrive faithfully once every month and that is all I know,” Bushwacker replied, he too had given up on trying to solve the same puzzle a long time ago and had promised not to revisit it.

  “So what is your strategy?” Nathan asked, as they headed for the bushes. He was a little scared and worried about so much talk and no action.

  “Speed!” Bushwacker replied proudly.

  “These slaves have been gone for almost forty-eight hours,” Nathan said, his tone exposing a faint hint of impatience and doubt.

  “We know the shortcuts and we run faster than the rabbits. We must and will reach Morne Turner before they do.”

  “How would you know if...”

  “How would I know if they were there already?” Bushwacker said, interrupting mulishly and completing Nathan’s intended question.

  Silence

  The young man was asking too many questions and it was getting on Bushwacker’s nerves; it was very uncertain how long he could take Nathan’s constant pressure and nagging–he was a man who had trouble keeping his nerves under control.

  “Was that your intended question?” He challenged Nathan without waiting for a response while giving the young man the same look a teacher would give a little child that was being overly naughty. “It’s our job, young man, and believe it, if the slaves reach Morne Turner before us, we’ll know,” he added and with that he kicked his horse and disappeared into the bush. The other four men followed and then Nathan followed too.

  As the disappointed slaves and Edwards began their journey back to the Fort, Edwards occupied himself with the thought of the reaction on Mr. Bushwacker's face as he read the letter from Massa Longstands. Edwards could tell there was something disturbing about the content of the envelope his Massa had instructed him to give to the expert slave hunter. He maintained the twelve-foot distance between himself and the four slaves who hadn’t stopped complaining. Bushwacker had decided that he didn’t need all of the slaves sent to him by Longstands. He had chosen only Locua from the bunch and instructed the others to return to the Fort and this was something they still couldn’t get over. Edwards didn’t want to be part of the debate and chose to walk ahead of them where their noise could not interrupt his thinking.

  His master had specifically instructed him to make sure that no one saw when he handed the envelope to Mr. Bushwacker and that he made sure the transaction was kept secret, most especially from Nathan. This was troubling enough for Edwards but he was a slave and all he did was carry out instructions—instructions, whatever they were and however they were prescribed.

  It had taken Edwards nearly two hours to find the right time and place to deliver the letter to Bushwacker—a man he had taken a disliking for from the first time he met him.

  Bushwacker had spent the whole time talking with Nathan while his men prepared the horses for the chase. When the two finally finished talking and Nathan handed Bushwacker an envelope similar to the one in his pocket, Edwards waited for Nathan to leave the room. But Bushwacker himself was all over the compound like a busy bee, he darted to the backyard and reappeared on the porch in no time and before Edwards could approach him, he was off again to the other side of the building.

  He never seemed able to stay at a place for a good bit of time and by the time the entire crew was ready and Bushwacker was on his horse, Edwards still hadn’t gotten an opportunity to hand Bushwacker the envelope. Massa Longstands had made it clear that the envelope had to be given to Bushwacker by all means necessary but Edwards was equally aware of the consequences of not handing the envelope to Bushwacker under the circumstances that his Massa prescribed.

  Edwards’s fear level rose with each failed attempt that he made to secretly hand the envelope over. Every time he thought he had a perfect opportunity to catch Mr. Bushwacker alone, the man moved to a different location; a more inconvenient location. Edwards could already see Massa Longstands’s face scolding him for failing to deliver the letter. He didn’t like what it looked like and chose instead to keep trying.

  “There is no need for a crowd, we really don’t need all of you,” Bushwacker said, sitting on his horse addressing the six slaves who had accompanied Nathan. “I always ride with only four and that number has not been adjusted,” he continued before turning his attention towards Nathan. The look he gave the young Massa was one that clearly spelt the words ‘do you have any objections?’

  “I will be part of your group, Bushwacker,” Nathan said, calmly transferring his allegiance to the expert slave hunter. His major concern was to find Ashana and whatever it required to accomplish that task was very acceptable to him.

  “Very well then, if you choose to join us but these cannot come,” Bushwacker replied. “As you can see, my men can ride and each has his own horse, anything different will only slow us down, especially inexperienced hunters on foot.”

  “I need at least one of my men with me and if you have no spare horse then he can ride with me,” Nathan said reluctantly. He didn't actually expect Bushwacker to give his proposal a nod and was prepared to go ahead without any of his slaves if Bushwacker stood his ground.

  “Very well, th
e choice of which of your men rides with you is yours, I certainly have no spare horse. Now let’s go get the job done,” Bushwacker declared, steering his horse around to face Nathan.

  “You!” Nathan said pointing at Locua, adjusting himself to make room. “Yes you, come over here, get on,” Nathan added, waving Locua over impatiently.

  Edwards’s eyes were still on Bushwacker and when he saw the big man shoot a quick glance at the house, scratch his head, and climb off his horse heading for the house, he knew it was his last opportunity and decided that he wasn’t going to let it pass.

  Edwards dashed behind Bushwacker, screened by the drama of Locua trying to mount Nathan’s horse; it was a drama that held everybody’s attention and gave Edwards the opportunity he had been waiting for.

  By Lacua’s third attempt, it was evident he had never mounted a horse before; he had fallen on his butt several times causing the rest of the slaves to laugh themselves to tears.

  Edwards and Bushwacker ran into each other at the corner of the hut. “Good gracious, what is this Edwards?” Bushwacker said, coming to a halt and bracing himself only a few inches from Edwards’s face. “Don’t you ever do that again, ever! You could get hurt, I mean really hurt and really bad too.”

  There was no time to waste. Edwards shoved the envelope in his face. Bushwacker's eyes went from the envelope that was only a few inches from his nose, travelled over the short hand that held it to Edward’s contorted face, and then back.

  “Massa say give Booshwaaker,” Edwards blurted, very indifferent.

  “Bush...Wacker, Edwards, that’s the way you say my name,” he corrected snatching the envelope from Edwards. “Massa Longstands?” Bushwacker asked giving the envelope another suspicious look.

  “Yes! Massa!” Edwards replied in a tone of mild and subdued defiance. Bushwacker didn't appreciate what he suspected was in Edwards’s tone and wanted to let his large rough palm explode on the short man’s face but kept his calm. He ripped open the envelope, pulled out a white paper and stared at the contents. He counted the bills in it; the same amount of money that was in the envelope he’d received from Nathan earlier on. The bills disappeared in his pocket immediately and he unfolded the note:

  Dear Bushwacker,

  Hope this missive reaches you in good condition, it certainly saddens my heart to ask this of you via a simple missive, but this must be done, it is very crucial that when you find the slaves that they be disposed of, this is a matter of utmost importance to me.

  It is also imperative that my son, Nathan be kept in the dark where this is concerned, he cannot be a witness to the quiet disposal of the slaves but if it really can’t be helped then you must make it look like an accident.

  Hope that you do understand, I shall explain when we meet.

  Upon reading this last line, hand this paper back to Edwards.

  Thank you.

  L.

  Edwards had followed closely the wavy movements and gymnastics performed by Bushwacker’s brow as he read the letter–the folding and unfolding of the wrinkles on his forehead, the squinching and widening of his eyes and the twitching of his nearly invincible lips. He could tell that the content of the note had caused the big man some sort of uneasiness; Edwards had had a bad feeling about the envelope from the moment he received it.

  After reading the letter, Bushwacker returned the paper into the envelope, shoved it into his pocket and stared over Edwards’s head through the door for a brief moment. Then he quickly reached into his pocket and retrieved the envelope. “Almost forgot this,” he said handing an envelope to Edwards. “Go give this back to your Massa!” Bushwacker said in Creole language, causing Edwards’s mouth to jump open in shock—Bushwacker spoke Creole.

  Now as he headed back to the Fort, Edwards’s thoughts oscillated between the message in the envelope that he gave Bushwacker and how the giant could speak fluent Creole. But his thoughts lingered longer on the possible message contained in the envelope; since Nathan arrived and showed interest in Ashana, things had not been the same at the Fort and Edwards had been in the middle of it all. After all, he did all the translations and spent most of his time in the Massa’s quarters.

  If Nathan’s parents were bent on stopping Nathan from being with a slave girl that he was bent on marrying and the slave girl was suddenly lost somewhere in the dense forest—what message could Massa Longstands possibly want a thug like Bushwacker to receive secretly. Edwards’s stomach churned as the possible content of the letter he’d delivered to Bushwacker scrolled across the screen of his mind. Could Massa Longstands have instructed Bushwacker to do what he was thinking? Edwards wondered.

  As they rode and galloped through the wild terrain, Bushwacker’s thoughts remained imprisoned by the letter from Longstands. He wondered why it was necessary to dispose of the slaves, especially the girl. He cared little about the lives of the slaves, after all they were aware of the consequences of attempting to escape and had often made up their mind to die if caught but could it be that Longstands had gotten the young slave girl pregnant and now wanted his mess quietly buried, in order to avoid a stench that would travel across the West Indian Seas all the way to England? It was a possibility and it wouldn’t be the first time Bushwacker had done some hypocrite, some high and mighty British slave Massa slash politician such a favour—disposing of the mess they made in the West Indian Islands with the slave girls.

  Mr. Longstands, on the other hand, was a man he held in high esteem and the thought was beginning to eat on the pillars that held that esteem high and it bothered him just a little bit; or maybe a little more than a little bit, Bushwacker thought.

  “I am a professional,” he whispered to himself. He had to remind himself that there was no point in trying to figure these things out, he got well paid, he did the job well, and everybody was happy. He wanted to ask Nathan some questions but hesitated many times. If the young man’s father was hiding the plan to dispose of Ashana from his son, then his theory might be right. Longstands was probably hiding his deed from his son; as a matter of fact it was possible that Longstands was the one who’d sent the girl away and was now sending Bushwacker to go get rid of her. “Forget it,” he whispered to himself again and returned his thoughts to the journey. “We have another two, at most three more hours of riding before a break,” he announced.

  Chapter Twenty-eight

  T

  heir flight had been a good one since their last drink of water, thanks to Tora. They had covered more distance in the first half of the day than they did all day the previous day. “We must continue moving before it gets dark,” Jonah said. They had rested for over an hour after drinking from the stream and Jonah collected some water in some makeshift containers made from empty coconuts.

  For the first time, the two were ecstatic; it was now only a matter of time before they arrived at the foot of Morne Turner. It was no longer a destination that they feared they might never reach, as they once had.

  Later that night they sat next to each other, looking up at Morne Turner; it suddenly seemed unbelievably within reach and inviting. They took turns saying the first things they intended to do the moment they arrived at the foot of the mountain. “There is supposed to be a stream there,” Jonah said, “PaNene told me the stream ran around the mountain.”

  “I’ll drink from it until my stomach is full and then I’ll jump into it and splash the water like a madwoman,” Ashana replied.

  “OK my dear, but now we must keep moving,” Jonah said, helping Ashana to her feet.

  Clouds of dust rose as the horse hooves slammed against the ground with each gallop; the horses tore through the bushes urged by their riders. Bushwacker was at the lead while Nathan and Locua followed at the tail of the pack. They had rested for a drink of water and a bite of whatever snack they brought along but Bushwacker had made it clear that it was only a break and by the time the last bit of his snack settled underneath his crushing molars he was already mounting his horse.

  N
athan's heart overflowed with anxiety, the amount of progress made so far pleased him greatly. At the pace they were travelling, he knew it was only a matter of time before they closed up on Ashana and Jonah. He hadn’t decided on what to do with Jonah; his primary concern at the moment was Ashana. But on several occasions, he had caught himself wondering if Ashana went along with the young man of her own free will and without any form of coercion—if that was the case, he worried what his next move should be.

  The possibility that his parents, especially his mother had something to do with the so-called escape also nagged Nathan and was something he wasn’t yet ready to rule out, until he spoke with Ashana. He was also aware that if it wasn’t for his mother’s pressure on his father, the situation would have been a lot less explosive. He had to bring his mother under control but how, he wondered.

  “Halt!” Bushwacker suddenly shouted, his right hand shooting into the air; the horses neighed as they scrambled to come to a sudden stop. Bushwacker had his feet on the ground before his horse came to a complete stop and so did his boys. Nathan watched in puzzlement as the big man and his men went to their knees, scrutinizing every inch of the grounds and attempting to read every single clue it had offer.

  “What is it?” Nathan asked as he approached Bushwacker who was bent over a depression made in the sand under a tree.

  “Somebody was laying here; there is an impression to testify to that and it is recent,” Bushwacker explained proudly, “as a matter of fact, more than one person rested here not too long ago; not more than twenty four hours ago.”

  Nathan descended on all fours and peered closely at the spot from where Bushwacker was reading all his clues but it was difficult to tell from the uneven distribution of sand in one location that some people or person was recently lying there.