by Carter, Noni
My small hands clutched the African cloth that hung over the beautiful legs of a tall woman. Mama Mijiza moved from one foot to the other, slowly at first, then faster and faster. She was soon spinning into the center of the circle. I grabbed Sentwaki’s hand, staring with awe and longing, praying that I could be as free as Mama was right then, letting the wind feed her hungry body with nothing but … but … Africanness.
The next thing I knew, I was spinning too, spinning in Mama’s arms in the center of the circle. The beat released the thoughts in my mind and I knew I was flying….
A round of clapping and joyful yelling pulled me from the spell of my deep daydream. I left my hazy pictures of what life probably would have been like for me as a little girl and fell back into reality. Looking up, I drew my eyebrows into a puzzled arch. The young man who had been standing next to me had taken over the preacher’s place. I let my mind focus on what he was saying, careful not to drift off into my old world again.
“Yessuh, we got’sta work hard, yes we do so’s when we leaves this place, an’ we knock on that door to heaven, the good Lord’ll look us up’n down, say sho’ nuff, Mrs. Patsy”—he gestured to a slave woman who sat in front of him—“you’s can come on in here to my kingdom! That’s where your freedom lie.”
Mmm, freedom.
The word rolled off the young man’s tongue in a seductive manner. He was saying that working was the only way to freedom, but I set that thought aside for the moment. There it was again: freedom. I could taste it!
“Amen, yes, uh-huh.” Everyone around me chimed in with their own amens.
“But if’n you’s ain’t workin’, says if you’s ain’t workin’, the Good Lord’ll look you up’n down, say ‘Nope’ an’ He’ll close that door.”
He continued and I listened, dwelling in the essence of his words of freedom, trying to understand what all he was attempting to say beneath his phrases. Then, as the heat of the speech began to subside, I found myself staring into the eyes of the young man, locked for the better part of a second in an odd gaze. Although brief, it brought up a deep feeling that rose from within. Perhaps it was a mere second, but that second felt like an eternity. But I forced the moment to end, and heat rushed to my dark face as I quickly looked elsewhere, trying to dismiss the glimmer I saw in his eyes.
I bet that’s a glimmer for freedom, I thought, trying to ignore the feeling in my gut telling me otherwise.
Following the sermons, everyone ate what little they had and talked with one another. I stayed with Mary, keeping an eye out for Daniel, who usually disappeared to talk with others and to do whatever else he did on Sunday afternoons. A little while later, Mary left me to return to the Big House to finish her day’s worth of work.
I searched for Daniel for a long while and finally seated myself outside the shack. I hated looking for him; it always gave me a nervous feeling in my bones. So when he came up behind me and placed a hand on my shoulder, I let out a short sigh of relief but began questioning him immediately.
“Daniel, where you bin? You ain’t told me I’d hafta search for you this Sunday! Why cain’t you eva let me know where you at or where you go to? I told you I don’t like lookin’ for you! C’mon, let’s go.”
“You a bit cross today, ain’t you? I’m fine, Sarah,” Daniel said, half-smiling.
I relaxed a little when I saw his smile—a warm, unusual smile that lit up his face.
“Don’t worry so much ’bout me. You need to be worryin’ ’bout that Missus of yours layin’ her hands on you!”
“Don’t talk like that, Daniel! You know good ’n’ well you could be beaten an’ sold befo’ the day is out, talkin’ like that.”
“John!” He said, ignoring my comment and addressing the man who joined us as we headed back. It was the young preacher man who had given me his seat.
“Those was some words you shared today. This my sister, Sarah.” The man turned his eyes toward me.
“B’lieve I done seen you round some, but ain’t met you the right way,” John said, gazing at me. The glimmer had disappeared, and I pushed my curiosity away with it.
“I ain’t neva shook no one’s hand befo’,” I said, placing my sweaty palm in his. He chuckled, bobbing my hand firmly up and down.
“Well, look atcha now, shakin’ hands like you bin doin’ it all yo’ life.” I gently pulled away from his grasp and occupied my hand with brushing away a bug that had landed on the back of my neck.
“You preach befo’, John?” I asked him.
“Naw, not befo’. Why?”
“You’se got a good mouth on you.” He chuckled.
“Well it’s ’bout time. John bin talkin’ ’bout speakin’ fo’ the people fo’ a while,” Daniel told me.
“You understand everything I say?”
I frowned and crossed my arms. “That some kinda s’prise to you or somethin’?” I asked.
“’Course not.” His reply seemed to laugh at my immodest tone. I grunted.
“You ain’t got no question fo’ John, Sarah?” Daniel asked me. I listened closely to Daniel’s words. He wanted me to test the man and he knew it was just a matter of time before I would.
“Well, then, sho’ I do. John?” I asked, looking up at his teasing eyes.
“Yes, Miss Sarah?” he asked.
Miss Sarah. I boldly returned his gaze.
“Y’all was talkin’ ’bout us workin’ hard, reachin’ heaven when we pass on, you know? But where in God’s mind or God’s book fo’ that matta do it say we gotsta work hard fo’ Masta? I mean, nobody like doin’ this day in an’ day out. That’s what I would think, unless I’m wrong,” I said, curious. We were far enough from everything not to be overheard.
“Naw, you right—,” he replied, but I continued, cutting him off.
“But they all say amen like y’all’s speakin’ the truth. Why that be?”
“Ya, John, why that be?” Daniel mocked, with a laugh.
“You hush!” I said, swinging my hand at his arm.
John answered, “You knows we gotsta watch what we say in front of the ova’seer.”
“Guess I can see that. But I reckon he ain’t the only one you gotta watch what you say in front of,” I replied in a matter-of-fact way.
“’Course not, it ain’t jus’ them. Some of us on slave row be runnin’ to Masta, tellin’ him what we sayin’ against him.”
“An’ how you s’pose to tell which’ve us is loyal, an’ which’ve us ain’t?” I asked.
John laughed. “You testin’ me, Miss Sarah? ’Cause seems to me you knows these answers already.”
“Sho’ she is,” Daniel said, reaching into his pocket for some wood and a knife.
“Naw, ain’t no point in testin’ you or tryin’ to prove a point. I jus’ wanna know!” I responded as my shoulders rose and dropped in a shrug.
“Well, there’s some of us that meet sometimes—secretly, of course. We talk ’bout things like that—you know, who we can trust, what we know ’bout Masta sellin’ any of us off, an’ otha things like that. We risk Masta catching us fo’ the truth to be told. Those who unda’stand the truth talk wit us lata on, kinda like me an’ you are doin’ now, till we rightly understand the news ’bout otha plantations an’ so’s we can share otha things among us. Them peoples who ain’t loyal be thinkin’ on Sundays we talkin’ ’bout workin’ fo’ the white man.”
A deep laugh passed from John’s lips as he continued quietly but insistently, “No, sah! We talkin’ ’bout workin’ hard.”
“Workin’ hard so’s we can reach the op’n door to freedom?” I asked softly, using some of his words from the church service. He nodded, impressed.
“Yeah, that’s right. Workin’ hard so’s we can make it through our own freedom doors,” he said, eyeing me closely.
Working toward freedom sounds good, real good. But how?
“Well all right then, mister,” I said with a nod his way. He responded with a loud remark.
“Looks to m
e like we got ourselves one smart gal round here! Take folks fo’eva to understand some’ve these things.” John winked at me but turned before I could say anything about it, walking off in another direction and whistling a tune I couldn’t recognize. I could only imagine the words that went with it. A smile crept up on my face, though I refused to let it stretch too wide.
I didn’t notice Daniel’s smirk until he remarked, “He’s only five or six years older’n you, Sarah.” I shook my head and tried to wipe the smile away.
“Ain’t interested in nobody. Got otha things on my mind,” I said with a firm nod toward my brother.
“Like what?” he asked, still smiling.
In my mind, images of books, schoolhouses, stacked words, and ink scratched onto paper ran wild through my mind, but there I bid them stay. Instead I replied, “You talkin’ ’bout me, but you ain’t heard me say nothin’ ’bout you an’ that Birdie.” I glanced over at him. He was rubbing the small stubs of hair on his chin with his fingers, looking as if a secret had been exposed. Birdie was a laundress owned by a city slave owner not far from the plantation. Daniel sneaked visits to her when he traveled with Masta around her way. I had never met the woman.
“Ain’t nothin’ to say,” he said unconvincingly.
“You got nothin’ to say? Nothin’ at all?” I asked. “I should tell her that.”
He simply laughed, but after a while, he said, “She a good woman, Sarah.”
“I s’pose,” I commented, keeping my eyes set in front of me.
“What’s that s’pose to mean.”
“You don’t fool me. She ain’t the only one got yo’ attention,” I replied.
He sighed, his eyes bouncing back and forth between the work in his hands and my face. “Now, you know that ain’t the truth. I kinda like her,” he said, his face darkening a bit. “An’ Mama like her, anyway,” he said after a short while, with an edge of persuasion in his voice.
“She doesn’t know her,” I said simply.
“Heard enuf ’bout her to figure,” he replied.
“Well,” I said, shrugging, trying to beat back the hints of a smile at the corners of my mouth, “sounds to me you’se softenin’ up!”
Daniel chuckled. “You ain’t got no decency at all,” he replied, throwing his arm over my shoulder.
CHAPTER
7
OUR DAYS BEGAN TO STRETCH ON LONGER AS THE WEEKS marched past midsummer. Throughout the Big House, and in the fields, much of the tension lessened as the peak seasons for fieldwork died down. There was plenty of work to do, however, and Missus gave me ceaseless tasks to carry out for the children. I was their nanny, their sitter, and their transportation. Despite blaming me for their misconduct and sly games, Missus had softened a considerable amount since I had received the whipping, quite confident I was permanently put in my place. I saw my work as an opportunity; dividing my concentration between keeping order and educating myself, I raked their conversations clean for anything new I could learn.
Sometimes on Sunday mornings, or mornings when Missus took the children to the city, I stole away to places on or near the plantation that I had found when I was younger. When I went to church, it became habit to search for John, under lowered foolish eyelids. He made it a point, over the weeks, to slip by Daniel’s side on some of those mornings, unannounced. He came and went like the tide; some weeks he wouldn’t be there, some weeks he would, and after a while, Daniel left us alone. When I talked with him on those days after church, it felt like I was digging inside of myself to find the places and the treasures that hid from me in the fields and in the Big House. He’d never stay long, however, and I settled it in my mind that he had only a small place in the back of his mind for me. When I could, I turned from what my heart whispered and set my mind onto letters, rules, and other school knowledge.
But there were other times—when I took the two little ones outside to play, or when I dumped waste from the House before heading out into the fields later in the day—that he’d just appear. With a passing word or a lazy smile, he’d fix a gaze on my face that I’d turn away from without a single change to my countenance, but with a pleasure under my skin.
That glimmer I had seen in his eye that first Sunday, however, had never returned, and I held myself back from expressing something that stirred deep down in my soul. I called it a good old friendship and turned my mind off to the notion of anything more. My heart was mine to keep.
Early one Sunday morning, I found my way up a hill a good distance away from the Big House. It was plantation property, but the land here wasn’t being used. When I could on Sunday mornings, when fatigue didn’t strap me to my pallet, I’d steal away here to watch the sunrise, to take in the peace. But most times, I’d escape here after church when I wasn’t needed in the Big House, or when Daniel bid me to leave him be, sneaking past the watchful eyes of slave row. Mary was the only one who knew.
I climbed up to the top and stretched out on my belly, the grass tickling my ankles. Shutting my eyes, I felt all my concerns seep out of my body and disappear on the wind. A calm energy that felt like God spread through me.
“Thank you fo’ this.” I spoke softly to the heavens.
That hill was my hill, or so I loved to believe. Here, I got away from all the struggles of a slave’s life. The birds and animals felt it, as did the plants and trees. It was my turn to share in God’s beauty. I squinted my eyes against the late-summer sun as I imagined distant mountains that stretched so far into the heavens, they had to be free from bondage and suffering, hate and sorrow, mental and physical pain.
I wish I was a bird or an angel so I could sprout feathers and wings and simply fly away, gliding, free as the wind!
“Wouldn’t it be somethin’ to stand atop them trees?” A deep voice shook me from my daydreams. I hadn’t even heard his footsteps, yet John was seating himself by me, admiring the beautiful scene.
“You follow me up here? I know you did,” I said, turning to him.
“Nope! Got up real early, an’ the wind jus’ a carried me here, to this place.”
“You tellin’ the truth?” I asked.
“Wouldn’t tell you nothin’ otha than the truth.” And I could see that glimmer in his eyes that I had let slip from my mind.
I turned and began scraping the dirt from beneath my fingernails. He bent his knees up with his legs out wide and tossed his arms over his knees. I stole another long glance in his direction and studied his upturned face. His complexion was a rusty brown with a hint of red and a dab of honey—three colors that melted together in harmony. John had thick jaws and a large face that fit well on his long but broad neck and his tall body. His nose spread wide when he sat deep in thought, and his lips were like two pieces of clay perfectly molded together. His dark eyes curled at the corners.
“There ain’t nothin’ more beautiful than God’s work. Us here, we God’s work, jus’ as them white folks, but they done gotten away from God an’ doin’ good an’ took ’vantage of his work. Done made us slaves. Slaves the makin’ of human folk, not God’s makin’.” He nodded at his own words, adding, “but them folks ain’ bad.” John’s deep voice held a hint of wanting to escape from this white man’s world—I recognized it as the need to run away, to be free!
“You always gotta preach?” I asked him without turning his way.
“I ain’t no real preacher,” he said softly.
“Sure sound like it,” I responded, but he didn’t hear, or perhaps he didn’t wish to respond. I looked from the scenery to John then back again. There seemed to be a bond between the souls of the trees and animals and his own soul. Something in my head wanted him to go, to leave this hill of mine. But some other part of me fought it. It felt right.
“You bin up here befo’?”
He shook his head.
“Shoulda brought someone up here with ya,” I said matter-of-factly.
His lips split in a subtle, soft smile. “An’ why’s that, Miss Sarah?”
&nb
sp; I shrugged. “Don’t seem right, you’se up here an’ its jus’ me.”
“I like talkin’ to ‘jus’ you,’” he said, leaning back on his elbows and tracing the skyline as outlined by the trees with his finger. I let my resistance melt into the silence. We sat there for a long time, listening to heaven whistle in our ears.
“You eva sailed the wind befo’?” he asked me.
I laughed, then replied, “Sail the wind? You mean, fly?”
“Sho’.”
“Cain’t no one fly, John. Only my ancestors could do that. They had big ole wings,” I said, sitting up and spreading my arms out. “They’d dark skin like mine, an’ determination like them birds up there!”
He laughed, his eyes sparkling in the sunlight. “So you know ’bout flyin’.”
I settled back down, a heavy thought having just run through my mind. I chose to entertain it.
“Naw. If I knew ’bout flyin’, I’d’ve flown on back when they took me away. They stole me away from my home where the sunsets filled up the skies like you neva seen, away from a family I was born to, and ’cross oceans a thousand times bigga than these cotton fields, all the way here.”
I didn’t know where the words came from or why I chose to speak them to the man by my side. I didn’t talk of that faraway past to anyone but Mary, sometimes Daniel, and I pondered all these things as I felt John’s eyes rest on me. I felt his serene gaze absorb my words, my expressions, even my unspoken thoughts. He remained silent for a few minutes, until he finished weaving together whatever he needed to in his mind.
“You bin here a long time?”
I nodded. “Bin here fo’ most my years. But … but when I come up here these days, to this hill”—I gestured to the sight before us—“when I come up here an’ see this, I get some kinda feelin’ deep in my bones, like I’m rememberin’ it all, John, like … like I could step back into that yestaday so easily.” I stared out into the sunlight, watching the wind pick up fallen, misplaced leaves and stray seeds and other pieces of nature that longed to find their way back home. They never made it far.
