47

by Walter Mosley

"Let's do it," I said, full of fears and trepidation.

  "You go on and find Tobias's carriage," John said. "I'll stay here and get her ready."

  I went through the barn door into the yard. The carriage was kept next to the vegetable garden so I went off looking for the mule Lacto that had crippled Pritchard.

  The mule was nowhere to be seen but when I came to the rear of the mansion I saw Tobias's buggy still hitched to his great gray mare. The mare was just standing there with her back leg crooked so I knew she was asleep. Gently I roused her by rubbing between her eyes and then I led the sleepy horse and buggy back toward the barn.

  As I was crossing the yard someone shouted, in a raspy dry voice, "Hey you, boy."

  Coming toward me was a white man with a pronounced limp. As he shambled closer I was able to make out various details about his features. His head was bald, that was the first thing I noticed. After that I made out the eye patch. A shiver went through me and I was so frightened I didn't even think about running.

  Closer still I could see that the skin all about the top of the man's head had been sewn like leather.

  "Stay right there," the man said, and I knew it was Mr. Stewart.

  "You dead," I said.

  "Hallelujah and I am risen," he replied, a big smile crossing his ugly maw.

  In his right hand I could see the bullwhip. And even though I was healed I could feel the pain of my twelve lashes all over again. He raised his arm and released the lash but before it could reach me before I could even think I was a quarter of the way across the yard looking at Mr. Stewart from the side. After the bullwhip cracked in the air he turned and smiled.

  "You lookin' a little taller, Numbah Forty-seven," he said. "Look like you gotta new master too."

  Again he swung at me and again I moved faster than I could think.

  "Neither master nor nigger be," I said, standing at a spot eight feet from where Stewart's bullwhip bit. "Fool," he said, and then snapped his whip again. Six times he swung at me and six times I avoided the whip. On each swing the lash got closer. The last time I felt the breeze caused by its passage.

  But I was ready to run again. What I hoped was that John would hear us and come out. I didn't want to call to him because then Mr. Stewart would have known that I had an ally. If I kept my friend's presence a secret I hoped that we could overcome him by stealth if not by strength of arm.

  There I was in the year 1832. There was no electricity yet or flying machines or laser beams; the glorious miracles of the twentieth century had not been invented and so when I looked upon the walking corpse of Mr. Stewart I could only think of magic, evil magic. Somehow a spell had been evoked and Stewart had become a zombie. He was the walking dead and everybody knew that a walking dead man could only be put back in the grave by the use of salt or silver and I didn't possess either one.

  The onetime overboss was maybe twelve feet away from me but I was prepared to defend myself. Somehow I had gained the speed of a wildcat. I knew that there was no man in Georgia who could catch me. I waited for him to draw back his whip but he surprised me and jumped!

  He hurtled through the air even faster than I could run. I made it four steps and he came down, catching me in the crook of his right arm.

  Everything that happened next came to pass in a few

  seconds but those few seconds felt like many long minutes.

  As Stewart's arm curled around my waist I stepped up

  on it and over his grasp. I skipped a step away but before I

  could run he caught hold of my ankle. I turned around then and pushed on his hand, moving my foot before he could get a solid hold. We were face to face for a moment. I could see that his skin color was paler than it had been and he smelled wild, like a dog after he's rolled around in something foul. I had no time to consider those things because the one-eyed man pushed me and as I fell he rose up, intent upon falling on me.

  I made it into a crouch but I have never in my very long life been in a tighter spot. If I turned to run the human Cyclops would jump and take me down. If I stayed there all he had to do was reach out and seize me.

  In that standoff, which lasted no more than two seconds, I noticed that Mr. Stewart's eye-patch was made from wrought iron. All across, the metal was etched with delicate designs. In spite of my situation I wondered, Where could he get such a thing?

  Mr. Stewart bent down a bit and I knew he was about to jump. I prepared to avoid his lunge but my chances, I knew, were no better than even.

  The slave boss grinned.

  "Begone!" The word boomed all around us.

  I was amazed by the splendor of that voice but Mr. Stewart grabbed his head and fell to his knees. When he went down I could see John a few paces behind him. He was standing tall and regally.

  "Begone!" he intoned again, and Stewart raised up on all fours and scampered away like a cur running from a lion.

  "Quickly," John said to me then. "We must be away

  from here."

  "What about Mama Flore?" I cried.

  "There is no time," he said. "Big trouble will be here

  soon."

  20 .

  The next thing I knew we were running through the woods, moving quickly between the boughs and branches. My feet were sure and swift and I didn't have to rely on holding onto my friend.

  After we had had run for some time I stopped. When he realized that I was no longer following him John stopped too.

  "Come on," he said. "We have to get away from here before he comes."

  "You already chased Mr. Stewart away," I argued.

  "Not the ghoul but his master," John said.

  "Who?"

  "The one you know as Andrew Pike."

  I remembered the tall man on the chestnut mare who had interrupted poor Ned's funeral. For some reason it set off a thrilling in my heart. But I refused to give in to fear.

  "Why would he be coming after the Corinthian?" I asked. "I thought he was only after you and that green powder."

  "He is," John said. "He thinks we're on the plantation. He'll go there first. In the meantime we can get away. You don't know enough yet to protect yourself from his power."

  "But what will he do to the peoples on the plantation?"

  "I don't know," John said. "But I'm sure that he will come in force."

  "But what about Mama Flore and Champ and all the

  other slaves?"

  "All we can do is hope that they survive the attack," the strange bronze-colored boy said, hanging his head down.

  "Attack? What attack?"

  "It's like I told you before. Pike wants something that I have my machine. It has the power to dig into the earth and excavate the green powder. With that he could start a chain reaction that would disrupt the entire universe. He would kill every being on this planet to obtain my machine. So you see I can't go back and help the others."

  Something about the light that John put into my chest allowed me to understand his words. I understood the word planet and what that entailed. I could almost see all the species of life throughout the world: trillions of hearts and minds from the lowliest insect to the great sperm

  whale.

  "But every life is holy," I said, somehow knowing this was the truth. "And without Mama Flore I'm sure I would have died a long time ago. If she had let me die I would never be able to help you and your people."

  "We can't go back," John said.

  "We have to," I countered.

  When our eyes met I understood the relationship between the disguised alien and me. He had seen stars up close and the infinite variety of the place he called Universe. I had seen suffering and hard-won survival for every moment of my brief existence. And, while he knew much more than I did, I had a deeper knowledge of what it meant to be on the brink of losing everything. That's why he needed me, because I would make the choice for living

  against any odds.

  I think these same thoughts went through Tall John's

  mind because he bow
ed his head again.

  "You are the chosen hero," he said. "I must follow." And even though I wanted him to say that he would go

  with me to try and help my slave family I had to wonder

  why he would do so.

  "What do you mean chosen?" I asked. "How was I

  chosen and who in hell chose me?"

  "The answer, like your true name, Forty-seven, is in your blood. You and a few others like you have the perfect blood code to hold the powers of the Tamal. And you, unlike many others, have a pure heart and an innocent view of the world. Even the fact that you would go back to your friends after almost being killed by Wall's ghoul proves that you have a brave soul and true spirit."

  "What happened to Mr. Stewart?" I asked then.

  come upon him before the vitality had gone out of his blood. Wall resurrected him to do his bidding."

  "If he can do all that then why can't he build his own machine to dig down in the ground for that powder?"

  "The Calash are not as evolved in technology as are the Tamal," John said. "They work mainly with biology. They even travel through space using certain unique qualities of their anatomy. Wall needs my machine or it will be more than a century before he will receive the power to try again." "So it's our job to keep Wall from getting to your ma chine?" I asked. "Yes."

  "I promise to help you do that if you help me save Mama Flore and Champ and as many slaves as we can." "As I said," John replied, "I will follow your lead."

  When we got back upon the Corinthian Plantation it was just before dawn. Everything was calm.

  "Are they still under your spell?" I asked John. "No. Everyone is sleeping normally. But look." John put his hand on my shoulder and pointed to the woods on the other side of Tobias's mansion. Somehow his touch allowed me to see what he could with his superior alien perceptions. Suddenly I could see behind the woods, making out a group of a dozen or so heavily armed men. The one-eyed ghoul, Mr. Stewart, was in their lead.

  All of the men were white, armed with rifles, and had pistols-

  stealthily toward the big house and the workmen's dormitory.

  "Quick," John said. "Hurry down and release as many slaves as you can while I warn Tobias and his men."

  Before I could run he added, "I will be weak from the effort of waking the slave master's clan, Forty-seven. You will have to save your friends alone."

  Maybe if I had time to think about his last words I would have changed my mind. But I was mostly thinking about saving my friends.

  "Where I find you aftah?" I asked John.

  "Under the hanging tree," he said ominously.

  I nodded and then I was gone.

  I ran as fast as I could toward the Tomb, having made up my mind that Champ Noland was the first man that I had to free.

  Again I was amazed at how fast I could run. I moved as nimbly as an African cheetah and so was in front of the small prison in no time at all. But when I got there I saw that it was padlocked.

  I knew where the key to the Tomb was kept because of all the years I'd spent near Mama Flore. It was on a hook in the kitchen. With my newfound speed I ran to the back kitchen door. I found a ring of keys hanging from the hook. Then I hurried toward the Tomb and tried three keys before one of them opened the padlock.

  "Champ!" I cried.

  He was curled up on the floor with his head down between his knees. When he heard my voice he roused himself and raised his eyes to see who had opened his door.

  At once I went to work finding the right key for his

  manacles.

  His face was all bruised and the flesh above both his eyes was swollen from beatings. There was dried blood about his mouth and there was something wrong with his jaw. "What you doin' here, Forty-seven?" "Men wit' guns comin'," I said, still fumbling for the right key. "We gotta get the other slaves and run 'fore they kill us all."

  I might have been John's people's hero but Champ Noland was mine. He took in my words and forgot his pain and torture. I found the right key and his chains fell away. He rose up and strode out of that prison just as if it was any other door. He knew that if Tobias had seen him defy his punishment that he would be killed no matter how valuable he was as a worker and a stud. But having heard my call he rose to the task regardless of the danger.

  "AWAKEN, TOBIAS TURNER AND TENNESSEE BOB AND WILLIAM THORNDEN AND MILLER JONES!" the voice boomed in my head so loudly that I lowered almost to the ground.

  "What's the mattah, Forty-seven?" Champ asked. "You

  shot?"

  "Don't you hear it, Champ?" I said.

  He pulled me to my feet and started dragging me toward the slave quarters.

  "RISE ALL YOU MEN OF THE CORINTHIAN PLANTATION!" the voice boomed again. "BRIGANDS ARE ATTACKING WITH MUSKETS AND KNIVES!"

  I knew that it was John somehow speaking in my mind and in the minds of all the sleeping white inhabitants of the Corinthian Plantation. I could hear the voice because of the light in my chest but Tall John wasn't speaking to the slaves, and so Champ remained ignorant of the call.

  As we moved toward the slave quarters the voice got weaker. And by the time we were at the men's cabin I could barely make it out at all.

  "Wake up, boys, they tryin' to kill us all!" Champ yelled as we barged into the men's quarters.

  "What you doin' here, Champ Noland?" Pritchard asked as he rose up from Mud Albert's mattress.

  I realized in that instant that Pritchard had been given the job as the new top boy in the cabin. Mud Albert wasn't even in his grave yet and the cowardly, mean-hearted Pritchard had already taken his place.

  Champ stepped forward and struck Pritchard a mighty blow while still shouting, "Wake up, men, they comin' to kill us!"

  Champ took the key from Pritchard's belt and ran from cot to cot unlocking shackles.

  "Go to the women's cabin," Champ told Number Thirty-three. "Run down there and tell 'em all to run!"

  Thirty-three, a tall slave with coal-black skin, hesitated for just a moment, then he grabbed the keys from Champ's hand and ran out the door. Meanwhile all the men I had sweated and strained with in the cotton fields leaped from their cots. The sun was coming up and I heard a crack from over where the mansion stood. After a moment there were more cracking sounds and someone cried, "Gunfire!"

  The men started shouting then. They rushed out of the cabin and scattered. I came to the door and in the first weak rays of dawn I could see fighting in front of the master's mansion. There were flames rising from his house.

  "Mama Flore!" I shouted, and then I was running.

  21 .

  White men were firing their muskets and fighting hand to hand in front of the mansion. I saw Tobias and two of his men struggling with the bald and disfigured Mr. Stewart. Stewart had superhuman strength. As soon as one of those men jumped on him he'd throw that man off as if he were a child. Tobias and his men kept coming though.

  It was a terrible sight but I didn't have the time to worry about what happened to Tobias and his people. All I cared about was Mama Flore.

  The flames from the mansion had spread to the barn. I hastened to Mama Flore's side. She was still unconscious. I tried to lift her but the speed John had given me had little effect on my strength. I could barely lift one of Mama Flore's big arms.

  I could hear the yells and struggles outside of the barn while the flames crackled around, closing in.

  "Wake up, Big Mama!" I cried. "Wake up! It's a fire!"

  When she didn't stir I took her by the arm, intent on

  dragging her from the blazing barn. I had managed to move her about three feet when my strength gave out.

  I looked around to see if there was a blanket that I could roll her onto. I thought maybe pulling the blanket under her would allow me to move her. In one stall I saw a blanket and grabbed it before realizing that it was the pall John had used to cover Mud Albert's body. I was mesmerized by the uncomfortable pose of his death. I thought that he would remain like that through all eternity, all twis
ted up and suffering because of Tobias and his evil. I hurried back to Flore's unconscious body. I was afraid of being burned to death in the barn but I couldn't bring myself to leave the only mother I ever knew. I begged her to wake up but she was still unconscious from that white man hitting her.

  The barn door was just beginning to burn when it burst open and Champ Noland came running in. He went to Big Mama and took her up in his arms.

  "Come on, boy," Champ told me. "Let's go out the back and put Flore in the carriage."

  Even though the back door was covered in flame Champ managed to kick it open.

  I saw that he'd found the carriage that I'd led to the barn earlier. He hefted Flore into the back, jumped up in the driver's seat, and turned to help me up, but I was already at his side using my newfound speed.

  Champ yelled at the gray mare and we took off. There was gunfire now and then and plenty of shouting from the fight in front of the plantation. On our way down the road behind the mansion a white man, Roger Brice, jumped at us.

  He landed on the side of the buggy and yelled at Champ, "Pull this wagon ovah, niggah!"

  For the first time in his life Champ did not obey the direct order of a white man. Instead he lifted Brice by the front of his pants and threw him off into a ditch on the side of the road. The bearded white man hit the ground hard and he didn't rise to continue his attack.

  Champ and I looked at each other then, and even though we didn't say a word we knew the content of each others' minds. Champ had used his great strength to fight back against a white man. He might have killed that man. It wasn't just a crime punishable by torture and death but it was also unheard of in the history of us slaves. It was as if he had broken some higher law that would call down hell-fire upon us.

  I had already conspired to attack Mr. Stewart with Eighty-four. I had thrown my rock at him. Eighty-four had struck him in the head. But neither act seemed as bad as a full-grown man-slave going against a white man. A man-slave throwing off the yoke of slavery meant that the rules we had lived by our entire lives had been broken.

  We both turned our heads to the sky, looking for God's retribution. But it didn't come. Champ yelled at Tobias's horse again and we were hurrying away from the scene of the battle.