I felt the supervisor’s gaze shift, the weight of his prodding eyes no longer upon me.
I let the plow hit the ground and rested my weight upon it, taking in a much-needed breath of the hot dry air that shifted heavily within the confines of the Clark plantation. I let my gaze wander, resting upon each of my brethren, pushing themselves to work through the punishing beat-down of the hot southern sun. Sweat coated their dark skin, and they shone in the light, looking as though an angel might burst free from their shackled, mortal forms and soar through the heavens, reeling in the freedom every single one of them surely yearned.
The thought made me smile.
Sometimes I wished the rest of them were like me. It was a pity they were all so different. So full of life. Optimistic. Full of dreams and ambition. Words meant for storybooks, if you ask me.
The big house stood center of the plantation it presided over, regal and proud. Tall columns held up a roof that topped a beautifully furnished multi-story interior. I let my eyes run along the sculpted railing that ran around the balcony jutting out the second floor, till they rested upon a pair of dainty little hands. Lily. Young, innocent Lily. It was break time for the house slaves I supposed.
Dressed in her late mother’s torn rags, she looked out, a hint of a smile on her face, up and over the walls of the plantation, surely dreaming of a life beyond. A life untethered.
I sighed and shook my head. Words meant for storybooks they are. For lives like ours, words like those bring only pain and misfortune. Dreams are meant for those who can afford to dream.
But this life isn’t all that bad.
The supervisor turned around and frowned. “Whatcha lookin’ at old man, get back to work”.
I hastily picked up the plow, readying myself for another round of toil.
You can only be as free as you want to be.
That’s the key, I think; they only steal as much liberty as you let them steal. My people don’t realize it, but they’re in control.
I lifted the plow over my head and, with a grunt, forced it down, letting its teeth bite into the dirt. Then I pulled it back, creating furrows in the earth as I walked.
The smell of meadowsweet filled my nostrils, and I stopped for a second, closing my eyes and taking in the smell. I could hear the birds chirping and the faint bark of the master’s dog from somewhere inside the house.
Hazy memories of the Rottweiler’s vicious teeth biting into the legs of those bold enough to run away began piecing together in my remembrance, and I squeezed my eyes tighter shut, forcing them out. I breathed in and then out, bringing my focus to the delicious aroma of the flowers in the field and the peaceful chitterings of squirrels as they chased one another up and down the trees.
Freedom was never all that appealing to me. Not that I never thought about it.
My father hadn’t done much in his life he was proud of. He had died a dissatisfied man, forever craving the rights of an equal. The freedom to explore the world. To do what he wanted and go where he wished, to live as an American.
He had died right here on this plantation. The poor man had had a heart attack while washing the horses and no one had been around to hear his cries for help, spare the horses of course.
It had broken my heart to see the poor man, the man who every night had clasped my hands in his and told me about the days to come, when we would roam the world as free people and follow the sun across the earth, lie there, reduced to nothing but dirt in a stable, washed away with the rest of the horseshit.
A tear ran down my cheek. I was now about the age he had been when he had died. Yeah, my father had not done much to be proud of in his life, but if there was one thing he was surely glad to have done, it was teaching me to read.
Not many of us knew to read, perhaps that was what made the difference.
If there was one thing I had learnt from the books, it was that the world is incomprehensibly vast. Sprawling pastures and dense jungles. Mountains that unite the earth with the heavens and vast oceans that wrap across the world like a pretty blue blanket.
I looked around at the four walls of the plantation, then at the barn in the distance and the master’s manor. That was all there was to it for me. This was my world. It really made no difference to me what happened out there, beyond those walls. And why would it ?
No matter what happens out there my days go by the same, horses in the morning, fields in the afternoon and woodwork in the night. That was how it had always been and perhaps, that is how it would always be, and atleast here, it’s my world.
The master was kind to me and If I behaved, they left me be, and that is how it was. The world out there was scary. Untamed. And if things were so bad for my people in here, lord knows what it was like out there. Atleast in here, things felt…I don’t know.. Under control?
I swung the plough around, now making the rows in the opposite direction.
I don’t know if I had always thought like this. Frankly, I couldn’t remember. It’d been so long. But at least I knew, if I died that day, I wouldn’t die like my father, chasing an impossible dream. Atleast I would die on my own terms. With-
“Hey get back here !”
I snapped my head around, towards the source of the commotion. Lenny and Bob, the two new boys, who’d been marched in from New Orleans a week back were sprinting straight for the gate.
“Get your filthy asses back here, before I shoot you down like the dogs you are”
I looked towards the gate, which had been swung open for the master’s carriage to enter. The boys had apparently thought this a good chance to escape.
I sighed and turned my gaze away. I knew what was to happen next, and I couldn’t bring myself to witness it.
The barks grew louder, as I heard the dogs run past me. I heard frantic screams, and the patter of shoeless feet on the grass. I silently prayed for their escape, but I knew it would do no good. God did not work for the black man.
The footsteps ceased and I heard a thump followed by blood-curdling cries for mercy and the nasty growls and sounds of teeth tearing into flesh.
I gritted my teeth and forced myself to turn around.
The master was out of his carriage now, his body blocking my vision, protecting me from the grisly scene in front of him.
“When will you negroes learn…” one of the supervisors said, shaking his head.
The master’s head snapped toward him. “Don’t use that word Jeffrey”
“What word ? Negro ? Aw shucks boss don’t tell me you’re gettin’ soft on ‘em..”
“Just-” The master closed his eyes and balled his fists. Then he took a breath and sighed. “Never mind, just.. Clean the place up when you’re done.”
I turned around again, tearful, picked up the plow and got back to work. An immense guilt had taken refuge in my chest.
Why wouldn’t these younguns learn. There is no escape from destiny. This was the sentence written out for our folk and nothing could change that. Least of all me.
What would my resistance do? Another senseless death. Another spectacle for the plantation supervisors to relish and another tragedy to my brothers and sisters. Nothing would change. But it seemed to me none of the others understood that. No matter how futile things seemed, they always tried. They always chased independence, straight to their graves.
“You holding up there?”
It was the master. I did not turn. I put the plow to the ground and started moving again. The master began walking along side me.
Leviticus Clark, son of Jonathan Clark, and the new head of the Clark household was a peculiar man.
As a child, he had been terribly lonely and had often snuck out to play with us slave children. My mother, who had served as his personal servant often told me about how lonely and depressed he had been up at the big house. She had told me his happiest hours were always with us, playing together, innocent children, uneducated to the ways of this cruel world.
To my father this had been proof of a kindred spirit that dwelled inside the heart of every white man, a spirit gradually enslaved by the devil as the white man grew older. He had often spoken about this at length with the other farm folk at meal-times. Personally I had never cared for his fickle musings. All I had known was Leviticus Clark was my friend, and no devil would change that.
“I think you’ve done enough for the day, old friend, how about you lay down the plough”
“And what earns me this luxury Mr.Clark ?” I turned around slowly and looked him in the eye. ”You sure you won’t put the dogs on me.”
He met my gaze and did not waver, a deep sorrow swimming in the black of his pupils. I saw in the light reflected off his eyeballs, my friend. Trapped in the cruel visage passed on to him from generations before.
I saw the kindred spirit my father spoke of, seeking liberation from the body of the infamous Leviticus Clark, the cruelest plantation owner the countryside had ever seen.
I turned away and got back to work.
“You can walk out any time you want. You know that right ?”
“I do.”
“Then why don’t you?”
“We talked about this before Mr. Clark, I got nowhere else to go. A white world is no place for an old black man like myself.”
“That ain’t true, I got friends out there, I can make sure you be safe. Heck I can probably make you a free man”
“A free black man, Mr.Clark ?” I chuckled . “Wouldn’t that be the day.”
“I don’t think you understand what I’m offering.”
“I understand just fine Mr. Clark. Listen. You see these whitefolk out here. I grew up with most of em, just the same as you. They seen me as a child before they seen me as a slave. And yet when the time came, the whips came down on me just the same. Don’t pretend like there’s hope for me out there Mr.Clark.”
I looked him in the eye again.
“I’ve seen my best friend turn into a monster and i’ve seen the man I spent my whole life with bring death to so many of my brothers and sisters. So don’t tell me there’s good folk out there.”
“You don’t know me Cassius. You haven’t for a long time. What do you know about the way the world works ?” ”
“Then how about you enlighten me.”
“It ain’t my job to teach you things Cassius.”
“I guess it ain’t” I broke eye contact and looked away, towards the several rows of trenches i had successfully plowed over the afternoon.
“But I suppose I owe you an explanation, for old times’ sake” He took his hat off and ran a hand through his hair. “My father’s passing did not leave me riches it left me a debt. A debt that holds my family and everything we own captive. I got the bank flanking me from one side and the bigger plantations out east, the Jeffersons and them, flanking me from the other.
“In a perfect world the economy of this. This motherland of ours.. Wouldn’t be built upon the sufferings of your people. But this ain’t a perfect world, Cassius. My ancestors sinned and now I am forced to pay the price. I need free labor, Cassius, to make money, to pay the bank. It’s the only way I can keep up. So I’m sorry Cassius.
“He looked down at his shoes, choosing his next words carefully. I studied his face, the careless attitude of days long gone buried under wrinkles and guilt.
“…But the death of your brothers and sisters kept my family alive. My business is built on fear, and by god, I know how to get it.”
I felt no pity for him. But I’d be lying if I told myself I did not understand. I had just watched 2 young boys be torn to shreds and I’d done nothing. And why? Was it because I deemed it a pointless endeavour ? A meaningless loss to life? Perhaps it was, but was that reason enough to be nothing but a bystander ?
I felt a long-subdued rage kindle within me, a rage I always thought was directed at the white man but i was becoming increasingly aware it was at myself. Perhaps I could change nothing, but no death was pointless. Every black life lost was a step forward, an indicator of the indomitable spirit of mankind. A demonstration of the lust for freedom that resided amongst every one of us.
“I don’t know if you understand it just yet, Cassius, but you and I aren’t too different. Forced into a lifestyle neither of us desire but lack the strength to fight against. And so we live, day after day, waiting for death to liberate us from this painful existence.”
I simply nodded. What else could I do? I did not know if this pathetic way of ours would ever see change, but if it did, if ballads were one day written and songs were sung about the great martyrs that paved the way to black liberation, I would not be one of them. I was but a spectator to perhaps the greatest tragedy humanity had ever seen. And so was Mr. Clark.
The sun began to set and Mr. Clark turned to leave.
“I know this means nothing Cassius, but I’m sorry, I really am. I just wanted to let an old friend know that I ain’t the monster everyone makes me out to be.”
“I don’t think even you believe that Mr.Clark.”
“I…” Mr. clark sighed and then walked away.
I watched him walk towards the big house, his figure getting progressively smaller till it was unnoticeable.
“Come on Old man” The supervisor shouted. “Those logs ain’t gon chop themselves.”
(hope leaves you vulnerable)