Reborn

by Lisa Collicutt

  When I didn’t answer, she said, “A nature nut? Nudist? No?”

  “I’m a man who was in need of a bath. That is all.”

  One thin eyebrow rose. “Okay. If you say so. I used to swim here myself when I was little.”

  The pool was hardly big enough for me to swim in, but for Desiree as a little girl, there would have been plenty of room.

  She took a few steps closer, stooped, then picked up the light gray T-shirt from the lump of my discarded clothing.

  “I suppose you’d like to get out,” she said balling the T-shirt in her hands. Then she threw it in my direction.

  I caught it as the hem hit the water. As I stood there feeling awkward, Desiree turned, giving me a little privacy. While she plucked tiny leaves off a bush in front of her, I hurriedly got into my clothing, all except the T-shirt, which I used to dry myself.

  While she faced the opposite direction, I took the opportunity to look at her. The short pants she wore, similar to the ones she had on last night, hugged tightly to her behind, but her luscious hair held most of my attention. In the dappled light, it looked as if someone had sprinkled jewels over the deep apricot ringlets spilling down her back.

  She glanced over her shoulder, catching me ogling. My cheeks warmed again.

  “I’m sorry I disturbed you. I was just, ah, looking for you, actually.”

  I rubbed the T-shirt over my hair in an effort to dry it. “For me?”

  She turned to face me.

  “Yes. Well, Auntie Mel told me the truth about how she found you.” She didn’t seem too upset over the news. “I guess we’re not cousins after all.” Her grin widened. “I already knew, anyway.” A light laugh passed through her glossed lips. “I can usually tell when my aunt is lying.”

  Not knowing how much Melba had told her, I let her continue.

  “So, you really don’t know who you are or where you came from?”

  Apparently, Melba had told her everything. “I’m Solomon Brandt, of that I am certain. But I know not from where I came.”

  She mumbled something; I only caught, “somewhere in history.”

  “I beg your pardon?”

  “Oh, I said I’m a history major at Savannah State. Maybe I can help you remember. Your name, for instance; it carries a lot of anger and bad mojo around these parts.” She glanced into the trees on either side of me, then spoke lower. “Are you a descendant of the first Solomon Brandt?”

  “Descendant?” I was more confused now than ever.

  “Yeah, like half of my ancestry is Scottish and the other half is African American. This,” She picked up a handful of red hair, “is compliments of the Scots.” She let it fall back to her chest. “I’ve traced my Scottish line all the way back to Robert the Bruce… you know, the guy from Braveheart?” She waited for my reply with a smile on her face.

  I shook my head, not understanding anything she spoke of.

  “Hmm.” She pursed one corner of her lips and grabbed her hips, reminding me of her aunt. “Well, anyway, have you been to a doctor to see if you hit your head?”

  “No.”

  I pulled the damp T-shirt over my head and stretched it down my chest. Something Desiree said reminded me of the feeling I had of being watched back at the fishing spot, and the darkness that followed me across the estate before I arrived here. “What did you mean by bad mojo?”

  With a look of reluctance, she answered. “Like karma or bad vibes. Let’s just say, the name Solomon Brandt doesn’t sit too well with the locals.”

  “Why? And who are the locals?”

  “Solomon was a vile disgrace of a human being. He hurt a lot of innocent people, including some of my African-American ancestors. The locals, most of them, are descendants of the slaves, the people he hurt.”

  “I’m sorry to hear that.”

  She shrugged a shoulder. “Yeah, well, that’s history, right?”

  Was this man she spoke so bitterly of the man from my nightmare? Was that heartless human being my ancestor? As I digressed into the disturbing thought, a distant voice tugged me back.

  “Desi…”

  Desiree spun toward the sound.

  “Oh, no! It’s Auntie Mel. I told her I was going to pick bergamot.” She took a quick glance around, and when she seemed to find what she needed, she squatted and pulled a wild plant, root and all, from the ground. “This will have to do,” she said, holding up the green leafy stem.

  “Desiree…” Melba called again.

  “Coming,” Desiree sang out.

  Desiree led the way down the path toward Melba’s. We were halfway to the house when she caught the toe of her strappy shoe on a tree root and stumbled forward. Before she hit the bush in front of her, I caught her arm and hauled her up. As she steadied herself, her back fell against my chest; her head of curls brushed my face. She grabbed my leg for support, digging her fingernails into the jeans, although I barely felt the delicate pressure. Maybe because of the intoxicatingly sweet scent of her hair under my nose. I expanded my lungs, moving against her back, hauling in the floral scent, losing myself in the moment.

  When the light pressure left my leg, and her hair lifted away from my face, filling the small space between us with fresh air, a medley of emotions spilled over me. Inside my chest, my heart swelled, emitting warmth that spread to the rest of my body, igniting parts I’d forgotten existed—awakening desires I may never have felt before. The moment robbed me of speech, of all other thoughts but the beautiful creature in front of me, against me. Then she took a step away, setting me free of the hold she unknowingly had on me. I held a hand near her, in case she took another stumble. When she turned to face me, I dropped it to my side, but the tips of my fingers burned to touch her warm skin again. She stood so closely, I could see a dark outline of my image in her pupils, the light green rings surrounding me, like the grass surrounding the garden.

  “Are you all right?” I asked in a more mellow tone than I was used to hearing from me, watching, waiting for her lips to move, to hear her next words.

  Her gaze softened. The pink in her cheeks deepened.

  “Yeah,” she said. She brushed a fuzzy bunch of hair away from her face. “Thanks.”

  Excalibur didn’t seem impressed as he nudged me in the shoulder, issuing a low neigh, as if to say, “Move along.”

  Glancing at the stallion looming behind my back, Desiree grinned and said, “Okay, okay,” then turned toward Melba’s.

  “I’m really not that clumsy,” she said while walking back. “I should know better than to wear wedges into the woods.

  Melba stood by a flower garden, a rake in one hand, the other latched to her hip, when we broke out of the woods and into the yard. The lines on her forehead were deeper than usual. Her face held no smile. She flicked her concerned gaze from me to her niece and held it there.

  Desiree held up the spindly plant and smiled sweetly. “I was hoping you could make me some of that orange bergamot bath oil.”

  “With that one sorry-ass plant?” Melba eyed her niece dubiously.

  Then she turned her suspicion on me, and I got the feeling she wasn’t too happy about Desiree and me being in the woods together—alone.

  “Solomon, you’re wet.” She gave me a pointed look. “Did you fall into the river?”

  “No. I…” I swallowed a nervous lump, feeling as if I’d done something wrong, which was an odd feeling, as if I were a child. “I was in need of a bath, and the river was there, and…”

  Melba grabbed the pendants hanging around her neck and lifted her face to the sky, mumbling something inaudible. Then she gave a deep sigh and held her hand out. “I see you brought lunch.”

  “Yes.” I handed her the stick with the fish.

  “Come Desiree, I need you to help me in the kitchen.”

  Desiree gave me an apologetic look, then hurried after her aunt, leaving me in the rear.

  “Lunch will be ready in half an hour,” Melba called back to me as we neared the house.

>   With the awkward moment over, I headed to the apartment to brush my teeth and fix my hair. Excalibur headed to the willow—the place he spent most of his time. For some reason, I felt the need to look less grungy, so I shaved the dark shadow off my face and changed. In the bottom of one bag, I found a wrinkled, blue and gray striped shirt and put it on with the jeans I wore. With my fingers, I brushed the nearly dry hair back off my face.

  His face was more chiseled, less gaunt, his neck thicker, and his hands bigger, more powerful. I was beginning to think we didn’t look alike after all—the evil slave owner, and me.

  The odor of fried fish and heavy spice greeted me inside Melba’s back door, but that wasn’t the only greeting I received. The sound of argumentative voices drifted back to me as I stepped inside.

  “You know it isn’t the season for bergamot,” Melba said. “The flowers haven’t bloomed yet.”

  “I didn’t know he was…”

  Desiree’s soft drawl ended abruptly as I stepped into the kitchen doorway. Both women stared, and I got the feeling I wasn’t welcome by at least one of them.

  “Forgive me, shall I come back?” I stood there, feeling awkward.

  “No.”

  That one word rushed out of Desiree’s lips, while Melba still opened hers. Instead of whatever she was going to say, Melba set her lips in a thin line and turned toward the stove.

  Desiree, looking slightly frantic, scooted closer to me.

  “I was just coming to get you for lunch.” Her smile cut through the tension, brightening the atmosphere, somewhat.

  Hesitantly, I made my way toward the table. Without looking at me, Melba pulled out a chair and gestured for me to sit in it. Desiree sat to my left, Melba to my right.

  The table was laden with a fresh batch of buttermilk biscuits, last night’s leftover vegetables fried together, a plate piled with fried fish pieces, and a pot of steaming tea. After Desiree dished up a serving of food, covering one corner of her plate, Melba filled my plate, then took a small helping for herself.

  Desiree broke the silence. “Auntie Mel told me how you came here and what you remember.” Her voice was soft as she spoke with a mouthful of biscuit. “I’m going to see what I can find out when I go back to campus.”

  “About what?”

  “About you, of course. Your name, for starters. It shouldn’t be hard to dig up some history on Solomon Brandt.” She bowed her head and smeared sweet potato over her plate, covering up the little blue bouquet in the center. “The slave diaries at Savannah State should be a good starting point.”

  Melba stopped chewing. Worry creased her forehead. She placed a thin hand on my wrist and gave me a distressed look. “Are you sure you want to delve into the unknown, Solomon? Some truths are best left in the past.”

  “Sure he does,” Desiree cut in. “He needs to know who he really is. He needs an identity.”

  The looks the two women shared across the table could have sliced through the tension in the air.

  I put down my fork and turned toward Melba. “Don’t you want me to find out where I belong?”

  Her word was golden to me, and I would probably obey whatever she said, since in a way, she saved me from… out there.

  “Yes, Solomon, I do want you to find yourself.” With a light pat on my wrist, she lifted her hand off me and continued eating.

  Lunch filled the void, but a gnawing ache had manifested itself in the pit of my stomach during our conversation. I got the feeling Melba knew more than she let on.

  esiree left shortly after lunch. The two hours after her departure seemed empty, like something was missing. Working in the garden that afternoon was a blur of images of the green-eyed, persimmon-haired beauty who I’d known so briefly.

  Time became painful as day turned into night. After dark, Desiree’s image began to fade, and the vile Solomon, the plantation owner’s image, appeared in her place. Visions of the previous night’s dream chased sleep away, until the middle of the night, when my eyelids finally fell shut.

  Glorious rays of sunshine, beaming across the bed, brought in the next morning. No horrid dreams ate my sleep away, no dreams at all. Peace and comfort surrounded me and entered my body with every breath. According to the sun shining on the far wall, I was certain it was mid-morning. I took a deep breath, reluctant to come out from under the bed coverings, and then got up.

  Today, I would try showering.

  After adjusting the taps to get the water temperature and the flow just right, I stepped inside the enclosure and let the spray do its work. A blue and white striped bar of soap sat in a niche in the tiled wall. I picked up the slippery rectangle and rubbed it over my body, then lathered a drop of shampoo into my hair. The new scents tickled my nose and made me sneeze, but I felt super clean and ready for the day ahead. Melba even commented over breakfast on how good I smelled, and how lustrous my hair looked.

  Despite all the yard work, plus Melba’s company, the next two days seemed like weeks as they passed by slowly. Suddenly, there was more to life than mowing lawns and eating Melba’s delicious meals—there was Desiree. But it seemed as if she’d never come back. With time, the brightness that surrounded me darkened, bringing back disturbing images.

  Then Wednesday morning came—the day Melba promised to take me to work with her. As she cleaned up after breakfast, I busied myself with telling Excalibur where I was going. He gave an unceremonious snort, with his muzzle buried deep into the grass. He might not have cared, but it would be only the second time I’d left him since we arrived—the first being the previous day when Melba gave me a driving lesson out her nearly deserted road and back.

  Nothing about driving the Toyota seemed familiar to me. But I did get the hang of it on the way back. And by the time I returned to the driveway, I felt more relaxed behind the wheel.

  Melba drove today. When she turned off her road and onto another one, I suddenly felt vulnerable, like in the hours before I arrived at Melba’s, more than a week ago. In that moment, I realized how protected I’d been the past week. Other cars zoomed past us. My heart took an extra beat each time. Between Melba and the Internet, I had learned enough to know the world was a big, scary place. I wanted to turn back, but stayed silent.

  The radio wailed out words to a tune from instruments. Melba called this R & B music. Her lips moved to some of the words, and her head bobbed at the same time. The noise made me nervous.

  About ten minutes later, we arrived on the street where my first memory was born. Where the giant hole in the road had once been, a darker patch of road now lay in its place. Sweat beaded on my forehead as I imagined the mob, their glaring gazes, and their nasty comments. As the car slowed, the memory became more vivid. At first, there was nothing but darkness and pressure. My lungs felt squished as my ribs dug painfully into the organs. Then, a noise louder than anything I’d ever heard boomed inside my head, and in the same instant, an intense light blinded me. I clung to Excalibur, squeezing him, as we burst out of the ground. Flesh ripped from my body. Dirt stung my eyes… we burst out of the ground. I had caused the damage. I gasped in a choking breath, as the now serene street came into view.

  “Are you all right?” Melba asked.

  I held back the next breath and stared in awe and horror at the sign with my name on it. In a low voice, I said, “I came out of the earth,” fully realizing how ridiculous that sounded.

  “You what?” The sharpness of her tone broke the hold the sign had on me.

  We drove past the oak-lined drive leading to Solomon Brandt Estates, where Excalibur and I had escaped. Wooden structures, decorated with yellow caution tape, sealed off the front entrance to the property.

  Excalibur hadn’t had any wounds. The only blood he wore was what had dripped onto him from me.

  “I remember,” I said.

  Although she sat side on, I could see her eyes widen.

  “What do you remember?”

  “I burst through the ground. Right there.” I turned and look
ed at the new patch of pavement, now behind us.

  “Like literally out of the ground? Like you were inside the earth and burst out?”

  “Yes. Me and Excalibur.”

  “Okay, if you say so.”

  Melba’s voice had taken on a skeptic’s tone. She humored me.

  Down the road, on the far end of the south side of the estate yard, she pulled into a graveled driveway with a small parking space at the end. She turned off the car and sat there. Scaffolding covered one end of the building. Below the metal poles, white paint chips lay scattered across the lawn.

  “All those windows need a good cleaning to get ready for the grand opening. That’s why I brought you with me today, to help with the windows.”

  Looked like an easy job, although there were many windows.

  But instead of getting out of the car, Melba sat there, looking at the place.

  “Aren’t we getting out?” I asked.

  “We wait for Wally, the groundskeeper.” She looked at me above her sunglasses. “I never go inside that place alone.”

  “Why, what’s inside?” For some reason, looking at the enormous house made me edgy.

  “Bad mojo.”

  Although I didn’t know what that meant, it didn’t sound good. A couple minutes after we arrived, another car pulled in behind us.

  “He’s here,” Melba said. She turned in my direction before getting out. “Are you sure you’re all right? You look pale.”

  I decided then, the flashback I’d had seemed too crazy to have really happened. Maybe the new memory had been a dream before I had woken up in front of the construction workers.

  “Yes. I’m fine. Driving here gave me unpleasant flashbacks. And that noise you call music has given me a pain in my head.” I rubbed my temples, and turned my attention back to the estate house, and to Wally, who gave me a strange look, and then tipped his hat to Melba before heading toward the back yard.

  “Isn’t he coming in?”

  “Eventually, but as long as I know he’s around, I don’t feel so… alone. So,” she said changing the subject, “you don’t like my music.” She laughed. “I wonder what kind of music you do like.”