by Zakes Mda
The boy did not want to waste time in the ghost tree since he had a long way to walk and wanted to reach his aunts’ farm before dusk.
At sunset the boys’ longing for their mother became acute. At that time, they knew, she would be singing the sun to sleep. She had a variety of lullabies—one for each day of the week. On sunless days the sun did not set, for it was not there in the first place. Still she sang at the time she estimated the sun would be setting if the clouds had not imprisoned it. They could imagine her sitting under the ghost tree, singing softly as if to herself, and this time adding to the words that were meant to lull the sun to a restful sleep after its long journey across the sky, the plea that it should rally all its heavenly friends and relatives—the stars and the moon and the comets—to look after the boys and to guide them to safety. They imagined her singing until dusk, but failed to imagine that at that very moment she was lying in the throes of death in her room, with the blind matriarchs doing their best to nurse her back to life with a variety of herbs brewed in blindness at their hearth.
Dusk meant the journey should resume. It was difficult to leave the warmth and the relative safety of the ghost tree. If only they could take it with them. Perhaps they would find other ghost trees along the way. Reluctantly they walked on, and the Spirit (or Massa Blue Fly, as Abednego insisted) filled the skies with stars this time. Whiteness flooded the world. Silvery and shimmering. The ground was white. The trees were white. Usually in summer their foliage was green and could not be penetrated by the eye. But now they were naked and ghostly, although only a few of them were ghost trees. If anyone was following the boys, they would have nowhere to hide. They were two little black blobs charting a path on the whiteness.
The sampler nagged them: follow the North Star. Their eyes scoured the skies for the guiding star. Abednego pointed at the brightest star and decided that it was what they were looking for. But that was not the right star according to Nicodemus. The mother’s lessons had sunk well into his head, complemented by book reading—rudimentary books stolen for his reading pleasure from the big house by The Owner’s children. Books to be returned, of course, before they were missed by the lady of the house.
To find the North Star one had to locate the Big Dipper first. They traced with their eyes the two stars at the end of the cup of the Big Dipper. These were the Pointer Stars, for they pointed the boys to the next bright star, which was the North Star. From there it was easy for them to tell which way was north. They changed direction and trudged northward.
The impression the boys had got from their mother’s stories was that throughout their journey they would come across quilts hung out to give them directions. But there were no such quilts. No Jacob’s Ladder hanging out of a window or from a fence, empowering them with information that they could use for their survival. Perhaps it was because their whole journey was undertaken at night and people only sunned their quilts in the daytime. In the day they hid in the woods, in deserted barns or among boulders that they roofed with dead leaves retrieved from under the snow. They slept, for they did not want to invite the eyes of the enemy. However, despite the risk of capture, they could not resist building a fire after every few miles to warm themselves lest they be frostbitten.
The sampler reminded them: follow the Drunkard’s Path. It was one of the lessons the Abyssinian Queen had drummed into their skulls. Never take a straight line in all your journeys. Only evil travels in straight lines. From time to time the boys took a zigzag path instead of walking straight northward. They headed northeasterly. Then northwesterly. Then northward for some time. And then again northeasterly. It was like a game. Occasionally Massa Blue Fly visited and hovered above their heads and then disappeared, only to materialize again when they had forgotten about him. By now they were convinced that it was indeed a familiar spirit: the Spirit that allowed them to escape in winter in the first place and that must now protect them against other spirits that were bent on facilitating their capture. As long as they kept to the Drunkard’s Path they would be safe even from trackers.
As the boys followed a combination of the North Star and a Drunkard’s Path the Spirit made the snow fall heavily and once more covered their tracks as soon as they had made them. Even the sharpest of bloodhounds would have lost their scent. But, as before, the snow’s effort was not needed, for the chasers and their dogs were not anywhere near the area. They were ahead of the boys and were heading toward Gallipolis, reputed to be one of the major crossings of the Underground Railroad. At that time the boys were trudging in Mason County in the direction of Pomeroy.
When it was unbearably cold they prayed for snowstorms. Just minor ones. During snowstorms it was generally not so cold. When snowflakes were thick they knew there would be a blizzard. They sought cover in yet another ghost tree.
The distance between Fairfield Farms and Pomeroy was about fifty miles. But because of the Drunkard’s Path it became almost a hundred miles, and it took them a number of days to travel. Delays were caused by lack of food after their dried fruit had run out. A number of times they had to dig in the snow to feed on the soil under it. On two occasions they robbed the scaly bark of the nuts that had been stored by the squirrels for winter survival. Then there were the two nights they had to spend in a cave while Abednego was recovering from fever. Nicodemus had to nurse him back to health by burning twigs and forcing him to inhale the smoke. On the second day Massa Blue Fly visited and Nicodemus knew that his brother would be well again.
But it was the visit of another friendly soul that convinced the boys that the Spirit would always be there to protect them throughout their flight. The soul, in the solid form of a haggard Caucasian male, had been invited by the smoke. He introduced himself as an abolitionist who would save them and lead them safely across the Ohio River. And indeed he saved them from starvation by giving them deer jerky and a swig each from his flask of home-distilled whiskey. There was no time to waste, the man told them. They had to leave immediately and did not have to travel by night since no one would suspect they were fugitives if they were with him. They would pass for his slaves.
Abednego, who was still not strong enough, rode with him on his horse while Nicodemus trotted beside it. But after a few miles it dawned on him that they were no longer moving northward where the great river would surely be, but in a southwesterly direction. The moss on the bark of the trees planted this doubt in his mind, for it was growing almost on the opposite side to the direction they were taking. He voiced his reservations to the abolitionist but he assured the boys that he knew all the shortcuts to Ohio and the route they were following was the correct one. They walked for the whole night and at dawn they reached the river. It seemed the fever had returned to Abednego and he was having the shits all over the abolitionist’s horse. The man could not take this affront to his beloved horse. His attitude changed and he was no longer the friendly soul he had been for the past hours on the road. He demanded that the boys clean his horse and bathe themselves in the river before he could proceed on the journey with them. It was a reasonable demand, Nicodemus thought, for who would want to take stinking boys to freedom on a stinking horse?
The facts that they had been constantly moving in a southerly direction and that the river looked just like the one they had crossed previously, although it was now frozen solid—the one they were told by the boy was the Kanawha River since the Ohio was supposed to be much bigger—alerted Nicodemus to the man’s chicanery. He was not an abolitionist at all but possibly a bounty hunter who was taking them back to Fairfield Farms for a reward. When Nicodemus voiced his suspicions the man drew his musket and laughed in his face and boasted that yes, indeed, they were back at the Kanawha River. But he was not so foolish as to take them back to their master in Putnam County where he would get a small reward. He was a slave trader in his own right and would forcibly transport them to Kentucky where he would sell them for a much better price. But since no one would purchase a slave that was dying of fever he would have t
o shoot Abednego dead if he didn’t get better soon. In the meantime he would tie both boys with a rope and carry Abednego on his horse like a bundle all the way to Kentucky.
Nicodemus had no choice but to give in to the man while he tried to tie his wrists behind his back with a rope. The road to Kentucky was still very long and surely the Spirit would not desert them. The Spirit knew that there was still the length of Mason County to cross, and then Cabell County and then Wayne County and only then would they reach the Kentucky border. An opportunity would surely avail itself along the way. The slave hunter was reciting these counties while warning them that he would not stand any nonsense and would have to tie them securely as there was still a long way to go.
But the man had not reckoned with Abednego, who was lying flat on the crazy quilt on the snow apparently waiting for his turn to be roped. He reached for the musket and hit the man on the head. The blow was feeble, but good enough to distract the man and give Nicodemus the opportunity to break loose and hit the man hard in the stomach. The man fell to the ground and Nicodemus hit him on the head with the musket. Both boys hit him repeatedly with the musket and with rocks and left him for dead. In the meantime his horse escaped, which was too bad because the boys had hoped to use it for their escape. They headed for the woods knowing very well that they would be dead meat if they were found, and that now every slave hunter in the area would be looking for them.
As they hid in the woods they asked themselves where they had gone wrong. For a while Massa Blue Fly and the Spirit had deserted them. That must have been the only reason they were almost resold as slaves just when they thought they were on the verge of freedom. Abednego felt that even his sickness must be due to some punishment for something they had not done right. They should have received their mother’s blessing before leaving Fairfield Farms. The Abyssinian Queen. They needed to feel close to her. The quilts. Their odor would bring her close. The crazy quilt! Where was it? When did they lose it? They must have left it when they fled the scene after beating the slave trader to a paste. They remembered very clearly that when Abednego was riding on the horse he was cosily wrapped in the quilt. When he lunged at the man the quilt was on the snow. He had been lying on it. They must have left it there when they fled. Nicodemus could have strangled himself for remembering only to grab his sampler. It was a selfish act, he told his brother, for he should have known that in his feverish state Abednego would not have thought of rescuing his quilt before fleeing. But Abednego did not think his brother was to blame at all. He, Abednego, should have taken care of his own quilt. He might be sick but he was the big brother, after all, and Nicodemus had better stop babying him.
They could not go back for the crazy quilt. It was much too dangerous for that. Instead they spread the sampler on the snow and examined each design, recalling its meaning. They had obeyed the Monkey Wrench by preparing well and equipping themselves with essential tools and provisions for the flight, they had obeyed the Drunkard’s Path by following a zigzag path, and the North Star by taking a northerly direction with the guidance of heavenly bodies. There were other designs whose meaning they did not know how to follow. There was, for instance, the Shoofly, which was made of squares and triangles arranged in such a way that they looked similar to the Monkey Wrench. The uninitiated actually confused the two, the Abyssinian Queen used to tell the boys. Then there were the triangles of the Bow Tie, the squares of the Crossroads, the rectangles of the Log Cabin and the circles of the Wagon Wheel. The boys believed the meaning conveyed by all these would be made clear once they crossed the River Jordan. For instance, they believed that on the way to the Promised Land they would be conveyed in wagons to log cabins of safety where they would dress in suits and bow ties.
One design troubled the boys: the Flying Geese. These were groups of eight triangles arranged like birds in flight in four different directions. Not only did the Abyssinian Queen talk a lot about the Flying Geese, she sang about them: flee like the geese in spring or summer. They had not obeyed this commandment. They were too impatient to wait for spring or summer. Instead of listening to the advice of the Flying Geese design they obeyed their anger at the Fairfields for leasing Abednego’s girlfriend to a bordello and for unjustly threatening both boys with auction. Now they were paying the price.
After a day and night of intruding on the serenity of white hills, of braving snowstorms and wind-blasted forests and of being over-awed by glacial waterfalls, the boys finally beheld the biggest river they had ever imagined. But its majestic waters were not flowing. The whole river was frozen solid. The low clouds absorbed the rays of the midday sun, giving both the heavens and the earth a uniform silvery color. Only the glacial surface of the river distinguished it from its banks and the hills. They walked down to the snow-covered boats anchored under the naked trees and waited for the night, lest they be spotted. But hiding was a futile exercise for they had to do something about the frostbite that was beginning to attack their fingers, toes and ear lobes. Abednego’s skin was beginning to get red around the ears, cheeks and nose, and Nicodemus was feeling some numbness in his fingers too. As usual they gathered oak leaves and used the last of their tinder to light a fire. Their stress began to dissipate as the blood in their bodies began to flow. They warmed their hands, feet and faces very slowly, and then wrapped their feet over and over again in dry rags. Then they put on their worn boots.
Abednego, still weak from the fever but feeling much better, expressed his surprise that they had reached the River Jordan but there were no chariots coming to carry them home, no band of angels coming to help them cross the River Jordan. No water flowing either. The river and its surroundings stood still and silent.
“It’s a good thing the water is frozen,” said the younger brother. “We gonna walk across the River Jordan.”
As he spoke Massa Blue Fly hovered above their heads, making irritating buzzing sounds and then flying away. That night the moon shone on the river, giving it a ghostly appearance, and the boys took the first few steps on the river. At first they hesitated, fearing that the ice would break under their weight. But they needn’t have feared: that winter of 1838 the Ohio River was frozen solid for two weeks. The ice was thick enough to support the weight of a horse drawing a carriage. Soon they were sliding on the ice; their worn boots performing the work of skates without much resistance. The boys had obviously forgotten about all their fears and were having a great time. Before skating their way to what they believed was freedom they became boys again and played on the ice. Even the weak Abednego was able to follow the bigger and stronger younger brother in tracing the figure eight. They played with the combination of their shadows and reflections cast on the ice by the moon. After drawing the figure eight over and over again in different directions and sizes Nicodemus followed his brother as he unsteadily zigzagged the Drunkard’s Path on the ice. Still the ghostly shadows and reflections followed. Making faces at them. Wiggling their way a few feet from them. And then coming close until their feet merged with the boys’. Until the boys were exhausted. Until they finally skated to the Pomeroy, Ohio, side of the river. There they lay on the snow for some time to catch their breath. And then they resumed their walk, climbing the steep hill away from the river.
They had crossed the River Jordan yet the terrain was not much different. They still had to cross gullies and frozen creeks, and had to climb hills and walk on precarious slopes—all undulating in the same rhythm. They still had to walk through naked clusters of woods. It was in the middle of one of these that the Spirit led them to a small log cabin. A skinny mule was roped outside under a thatched shelter. They were welcomed by an old hermit, perhaps over eighty years old, who was so senile he was not aware that the Revolutionary War came to an end sixty years before. He had lived in the woods as a fugitive from himself that long—meeting people once or twice a year to replenish those supplies he could not produce himself and to barter his corn and beans for clothes or the replacement of a dead mule. In all these transacti
ons he stayed away from the communion of other men and women.
The hermit was nevertheless very happy to have his own niggers at last. He felt that he was getting places now that God had given him his own slaves. The fact that he was in Ohio where there was no slavery did not seem to register in his mind. The boys played along to humor him and to get food and protection from the elements while Abednego gathered more strength and recovered fully. Then they would follow the North Star to its conclusion in Canaan—after stopping for a while at Berlin Crossroads to pay their respects to Nicodemus’s father and to give him news of the Abyssinian Queen.
The boys spent almost two weeks in the hermit’s benign slavery. He helped in nursing Abednego back to robust health by giving him large amounts of blackberry root tea for his diarrhea. He had enough supplies and for the first time after weeks on the road the boys were able to eat cooked meals—mostly grits and boiled beans. Now that Abednego was strong again he was secretly gnawed by the fact that it was his younger brother who had had to look after him when it should have been the other way round. He was determined to prove himself this time, and would be sure to take a leadership role on the road to Canaan.
They bought their freedom from the hermit with the slave trader’s musket—in reality they were merely rewarding him for his hospitality—and went on their way. The hermit was sad to see them go, but was at least relieved that his old eardrums would be saved from Nicodemus’s nightly flute trills.