As Mam' sadly gazed upon the woman's troubled countenance, 'twas then she noticed her eyes roll in her head and then fix on Mam'. She saw the lips of her mouth moving to form words. The woman was still alive! Mam' looked up quickly at the face of the white man holding the woman's shoulders. She could tell by the surprised look of his face that he saw it, too. The woman was still alive! Then the white man looked at his companion, nodded, and they heaved the woman into the ocean.
"Dey knew she be alive, and dey chucked her out, anyways!" Mam' declared. "An' dey's many a times I seen dat occur."
Had she retrieved her senses, sooner, Mam' might've joined the castaway, that day. As luck–or fate–would have it, the two sailors did not dally, nor even peer over the side to view the result of their action; mayhaps they could not stomach it. They returned amidship, grabbing up Mam' as they came along, and returning her to her place in the hold. She was shackled alone in the cramped space she once shared with that sorrowful woman.
As she lay there, Mam' struggled through the turbulence of conflicting emotions; she felt privileged to have that small place to herself; she was relieved she'd no longer have to suffer from that woman's sickness and tolerate her effluence, her noise, her presence. She found herself thinking how glad she was that woman was gone. Yet she felt a morbid shame that spread through her soul and sickened her: to realize that she could harbour such selfish, evil feelings. She fell off to sleep that night hating herself as much as she hated her circumstances. But Mam' always was strong as teakwood (and bold as brass, for that matter). By the next morning, she was less angry at herself and more steeled to survive her ordeal and fight to preserve her life–if not her dignity–'til the end come.
As the days and weeks passed, Mam' found herself more and more bonded, by the spirit, with the men and women of her "new tribe." 'Though she could find no one who spake her language, there were slaves from neighbouring tribes whose words she could sometimes understand–and who seemed to understand her. And from many of the other slaves there were little gestures, little acts of kindness, concern and consideration that caused Mam' to know she was not all alone, condemned to the isolation of her own mind and the fearsome nightmares that festered there.
A sense of belonging in that new tribe bolstered her mental resistance to the white men's control. Still, she could not physically resist their wanton lust or brutality. The humiliations, the rapes and the buggery continued to be her plight. Most of the whites preferred young, bountiful women in full blossom. But those among them that desired her, and others like her, used her frequently, often "sharing" her as a group. For these reasons, Mam' came to prefer the hold to being on deck. The hold may be putrid and stultifying, but she felt safer and saner there. The apparent beauty above decks–the sun in the bright blue sky, the pure white clouds, the sparkling waters–was a mockery. 'Twas as walking through hell, while just beyond was an unreachable, heavenly background. To Mam', her small, cramped space in the hold was her sanctuary.
But there was no permanent moral standard Mam' could cling to, over time. Even in simple terms, like good versus evil or we against them, Mam' found the foundations of her beliefs were constructed on ever shifting sands. The white men, for an instance, were demons–and indefensible. 'Course there was that one white boy on the ship. Mam' hated the sight of his gaunt, white face; but she lit up like a candle when he come 'round. For certain, he was a white demon: one of their species. But his actions were different. 'Twas almost as though he had a heart, and–mayhaps–a soul. Oh, like t'others, he'd oft' put his hands on Mam'. Yet he'd never harmed her, and he'd never molested her.
The first time she took notice of him was up on deck. Her abusers had finished with her, exhausting her and themselves as well. And they had pushed her so hard and frequently upon the wood deck, her face and limbs were scratched and bruised and her nose was bleeding. They simply left her lying there, and walked away to partake of some rum and rest. Mam' was too exhausted, too sore and too humiliated to move. She experienced that familiar fantasy of seeping into the wood of the deck and hiding from the world.
What brought her back were white hands, lifting her by the shoulders and raising her to her knees. Her only thought was, since he didn't just mount her on the deck, he must be wanting that other thing. However, he continued to raise her to her feet and led her along the deck, further away from her abusers–and other curious eyes. He brought her to a spot where old canvases were piled in a tall heap on one side, and empty casks stood on the opposite side. Apparently, what he intended required privacy. In the midst of this refuse, he stopped her. He nudged her on her shoulders until she again returned to her knees. Knowingly, Mam' shut her eyes and waited for it to happen. Strangely, she thought, 'twas some time acoming. But when it came, it startled her such that her eyes and mouth snapped open wide!
The bucketful of water he splashed over her head was cold, and unexpected. She was, at first, stunned, and then began to shiver. The white lad began to wipe her down with a large rag. He touched her everywhere, but never wrongly. Gazing at the lad as he wiped blood and dirt from her defiled little body, she noticed he was quite younger than the rest of his kind: mayhaps a bit older than her. And then she noticed something else; she didn't hate him. 'Twas the first time she looked into a white face without feeling anger and hate. And, lastly, she noticed she did not fear him. She felt herself calming to his touch and soothed by his words. 'Though it was the same meaningless babble as always spewed from the whites, 'twas the sound of his speaking–the softness in his voice–that comforted her. And he continued a stream of words, as he gently cleaned her. Surely, he knew she couldn't understand a word, but he must've sensed the calming effect it had on her.
He finished his chore, shut his yap, took her chin in his hand, looked into her eyes and smiled at her. This, again, startled her, and she went bug-eyed. But Mam' remembered smiling back at the lad afore he turned his eyes away. Mam' realized she'd not witnessed a friendly smile since that last day in her village; and she quite believed she would never smile again in this life.
Then, suddenly (as he seemed to do everything–suddenly), the lad took to his feet and left her there. He left her there alone. The white demons would never leave the slaves be alone.
"Hell, dey don' leave us be, at all!" Mam' exclaimed. "But I don' be scared," Mam' continued. "I likes dat hidden place."
Mam' said she felt she was in a safe place.
As suddenly as he'd disappeared, he reappeared. He handed Mam' a cut of hardtack. It was clean: no maggots or other vermin, no dirt nor grease. And he gave her a cup of clean drinking water. When she'd finished these, Mam' sat with her back against an empty barrel, switching her gaze from the lad to the stars that had just come out. Feeling comforted and relaxed, she fell off to sleep.
Mam' awoke with a start, an arm jostling her shoulder. It was the white lad, and he spake softly to her in that unfathomable tongue. Mam' was not frightened; she sat smiling at the lad. She was still somewheres betwixt her dream and her new safe place, with him. And she would not willingly let go of that dream. It put her back in her village, several years younger, cradled in her mother's arms. But the lad seemed insistent on bringing her 'round. He had his hands on her arms, pulling her to her feet, gently but firmly; and he kept repeating the same phrase.
The lad guided Mam' back to the hold and her small "sanctuary," there. As he sat her in her space, he again repeated that phrase. Mam' looked into his face and nodded in agreement. She knew not a word of his tongue, but she sensed he was saying, "You must return to your place, or you'll be missed."
That was Mam's first experience of kindness from a white man. She learned not all were demons; some could be good–indeed, very good. In time, she developed a sense of whom she could trust; and they became her "tribesmen," regardless of colour. She also learned that by paying attention to the white babble–studying the speaker and his countenance, as he spake–she could
sense what was being said, and eventually put meaning to words. This "sense," she practiced with all whites–good and bad.
The young white lad remained Mam's friend and only protector for the remainder of the voyage.
"I comes ta b'lieve dat, mayhaps, one of Mam's lovin' ancestors dun come back, disguised in da fohm of a demon–a white boy–ta protect Mam', keep her strong–keep her alive!" Mam' explained.
'Though she realized 'twas not her alone he was inclined to kindness towards (oft' times, she saw him slip bits of hardtack or mouthfuls of gruel and sips of water to other slaves), 'twas to her he was most accommodating. And he cleaned her fairly regularly. And he accompanied her when she left the hold to go on deck. This served to protect her from the routine of abuse she'd thus far suffered. Not that it ended, entirely. Her accosters became annoyed by the constant presence of the lad during their moments of leisure and need.
Mam' recalled the worst beating she'd ever received on that ship. 'Twas a pleasant enough eve, and Mam' looked forward to her release time. She was fairly parading across the deck (as she tells it) with her young, white protector walking aside her, holding her arm firmly, as in a show of indifference for the benefit of the rest of the crew. Mam' was anxious to go to their hideout: to see what small surprises he might bring her, and play her game of making sense out of his white babble.
As they approached to within feet of their spot, her "regular" assailants fell upon them. Two of 'em grabbed her, one by each arm. They flung her backward against the empty casks, and moved on the lad, hisself being held by two men–one at each arm–while a third, larger man stood behind him locking the lad's head in his arm. They proceeded to pummel and bludgeon the boy, helpless in their grasp.
Mam's outrage at their attack on her protector was so intense she reacted instantly, with no fear or inhibition. She flew at the assailants in a rage, flailing about, smacking at their heads, clawing their skin and biting faces, necks and arms, as she could. She drew blood from each perpetrator. She also drew their wrath. They went at her with fists flying: punching her head, her stomach, her face, her back, her limbs. She felt her body breaking and her spirit crumbling. She fell unconscious–mercifully.
She knew when she came to, she'd been raped and buggered many times over. But this time, she could tell, it was done from rage, not lust.
"An' ya sees dis scar on ma te't, wha' some basta'd was chewin' while he does me," Mam' said, exposing a breast to view. "I knows Mam' been marked by a demon," she continued. "Ma body belong ta da demons. But ma soul belong ta da Lawd!"
Mam' said when she could, she crawled over to the lad, unconscious but still breathing. She had nothing left to give: no strength to help. She kissed him on the forehead several times, and lay upon him, as if to protect him. Morning came, and they were discovered and awoken by a sailor. During the night, when all the slaves had been returned to the hold, Mam' had indeed been missed. Now found, Mam' and the lad were brung afore a man of great authority (whom she then thought to be the chief "demon" and later understood to be the captain of that slaving vessel).
Mam' and the lad were surrounded by a circle of white men, all pointing here, then there, and chattering continuously. That noisy white chatter, when constant, became to Mam' as the din of the ocean, when cut by the ship's bow. If you attend it, the sound could overwhelm your senses and drown out your very thoughts. If you attend not, the sound seemed to grow louder, move faster, and disappear: as if drowned out by the sound of your thoughts.
The looks and the gestures, 'though, she could not ignore. She felt humiliated, standing there naked, bruised and cut, surrounded by fully clad white men, ogling her. To add to her shame, she peed on herself, when frightened by a loud clap of the ship's bell. She felt as all were watching the urine drip down her leg.
The captain barked, and the crew came silent. He then approached the lad and started talking to him, softly. Mam' had assumed they were in great trouble, but from the tone of the discussion 'twixt her lad and the captain, she realized she was wrong. Apparently, much had passed while they slept.
The lad pointed out each of their assailants (already contained in a group, by the other sailors). The captain barked, again, and the men were grabbed and tied, and their backs bared. In front of the ship's complement, and Mam', each perpetrator was flogged, twenty stripes. This was Mam's introduction to the white man's justice. But she believed then (and knew for certain, later) that the "justice" was for her white companion–not her black self.
The truth of this was demonstrated for Mam' by the fact that these scalawags never went within forty paces of the lad for the rest of the voyage. And they never bothered Mam' when she was up on decks with the lad. But, when opportunity presented–on an irregular basis–when any one of 'em chanced on her alone, he'd have his way with her. And now it always was more the product of anger and revenge than lust.
Mam' was becoming educated in life's realities. Along with unimaginable meanness and cruelty, kindness and gentleness could coexist. Occasionally–rarely–she might meet a white man with a soul. But she knew, in her heart, it was the black people she must look to. They, she could count on for kindness and support. On that slave ship, Mam's education continued. And the lessons were ever changing.
She recalled an occasion when many slaves were hauled on deck and formed into several lines. She didn't remember the purpose, only the occurrence. Mam' could seldom guess what the white demons were going to do, or what they wanted, but she always felt comforted when surrounded by her own people. The whites moved about as if inspecting: talking amongst themselves about her people. From behind, she felt two large, manly hands grasp her ass and then begin rubbing. Soon, she felt a digit enter and move rudely up her anus. As by habit, her shoulders slouched forward and her eyes cast down to her feet. Then, for some reason, Mam' shifted her head around and her eyes up. What she saw standing there, with his finger still up her ass, was a big, black man with a sheepish grin on his face.
"A black man! One of ma own peoples! Someone who'd suffered da same indignities, humiliations an' physical pain we'd all shared. One of our community. And he could do dis ta me?!"
Mam' went berserk! She lashed out at the culprit, dragging skin from his face with her claws, like a lioness. She threw herself upon him with such fury, he fell back. She pummeled him with her fists, stood and smashed her foot hard down on his groin. Her eyes were filled with rage and overflowed with tears. She could not see the blood and horror on his face. She was on him, with her knees dug into his stomach, striking at his head, when the two white men reached to pull her off. One grabbed at her right shoulder, but she shifted it down and escaped his grasp, swinging her right arm over to her left. The other one grasped her left arm, so slippery from sweat that his grip slid 'til he anchored her wrist. The tears had left her eyes, but the rage remained. However motivated by the rage, Mam' was no longer blinded by it. In the instant she swung her head toward the white man grasping her wrist, she saw it! Her right hand reached for the cutlass in his sash and, with one continuous movement, she pulled out the blade, ran it across the black man's throat, swung it high over her shoulder and released it. The only sound she remembers was that of the cutlass splashing the water.
In a chaotic world–in her fragile state of mind–that black man had robbed her of the last crumb of social sustenance: her belief that her people would never harm her, that she could always feel secure with her own kind. Now, she felt so terribly, terribly alone, standing on that deck, splattered in that black man's blood, held fast by two white sailors and surrounded by slaves. She felt terribly alone. But she did not feel remorse.
Three more white sailors stood afore her. They stooped to grab the dead man's body and with a few steps and one loud yell, heaved the carcass overboard. Mam' would again witness the white man's justice. 'Though this time, it was she who would feel the lash. She felt the sting, but it was no worse than so much inflict
ed upon her in the days and weeks just passed. Mam' couldn't recount the number of lashes she received. She passed out during the process. 'Twas not the pain of the punishment that took her out, but the overwhelming weight of events most recent. You can be certain this did not stay the executioner's hand, nor interrupt the rhythm of his flail–I've seen that sort too often.
The next that Mam' remembered, she was being carried by her white lad, back to her place in the hold–her "sanctuary." That night as she lay awake, with her eyes shut so she could "see" the stars, she reflected on that day's events and the white man's justice. 'Though she felt no remorse (then or ever) for her actions, she had killed a man. And the punishment was a few lashes? Mam' realized she was not punished for taking a man's life, but for the loss of his monetary value to the whites.
We could see the fatigue in Mam's eyes, and hear it in her voice. The captain begged her stop and rest, and suggested we might continue another time. But Mam' was determined to put that young girl to rest, having awoken her from the blissful sleep of distant memory. It had always been Mam's way to live in the present with her eyes to the future.
As she told us, "I gwine leaves dat girl be, an' da Lawd'll resurrect her in da nex' world." And so Mam' continued the voyage for the captain's sake and her own, to be finished with the transport once and for all. Her stories were replete with physical, sexual and mental abuses, on a continual basis, of the same nature as those I've revealed to you. And the despatch of the slaves: 'twas a morbid business, the slave trade, 'though doubtless a profitable one, to accept such losses as Mam' described–to the extent that their cargo was more than halved by journey's end. Slaves died of disease and were cast away. Slaves died of hunger, of physical abuse and some, seemingly, from a sheer lack of will to live; all were cast away, unceremoniously. One still day, Mam' remembered, when the sheets just hung and the ship would not move, eight slave corpses lie out in the waters hovering about the ship like the spirits of dead men haunting their murderer.
Other slaves tried and succeeded at that which Mam' had failed: to leap into eternity, from the decks of hell into the watery gateway to the spirit world. This was more common in the sooner part of the voyage. To prevent such losses, sailors were posted in a large circle, containing the slaves and interceding should one attempt departure. 'Course, as Mam' said, there were more than a few healthy slaves flung into the sea while protesting vigorously. Seemingly to her, this was done at the whim and discretion of the whites.
Mam' related her mix of emotions at seeing land once more. It lifted her heart to believe this voyage would end. But thoughts of what might lie ahead brought on such apprehension that she developed a shiver which still animated her days later, naked and chained on the white man's auction block.
Sitting back in her chair, Mam' wrung her hands and then put them on the table, palms down. She pushed hard against the table, simultaneously rising from her chair. This impressed me as the physical manifestation of her thought process.
With the words, "Das wha' it be fo' me–fo' all of us. An' I gwine talk on dis no mo'," Mam' pushed the little girl who used to be her back into the distant past, and walked away from the table and the conversation, leaving the captain and me alone to ponder the tragedy of transportation.
Chapter VII
To Have This Thing Done
Annalea, Princess of Nemusmar Page 8
