The Prison

by Stefano Pastor

  Abraham no, he’s not alone.

  For Abraham Lincoln the whole world is ready to stretch out a hand. He has made it, he has achieved his dream.

  It is fresh news that the CSA has fallen. Twenty-four hours ago, the slavery laws have been abolished. There are no more slaves in the whole world, we are all free human beings.

  How much of this is due to Abraham Lincoln is yet to be established. Of course, his speeches inflamed the world. His determination, his strength. Two Nobel peace prizes, four assaults on his life, the last of which hurt his spine and paralyzed him, didn’t do anything but increase his popularity.

  Eventually the Confederation of States collapsed. The president resigned. That this has been caused by a severe financial depression due to sixty years of embargo is of little importance. Now the borders are open again, the world has become a single country.

  They won’t forgive him, too many governments hated him, too many people would like him to die, like all those around me, but it doesn’t matter to him. He smiles on that podium, careless of the wheelchair that never blocked him.

  He won, he made it.

  His words rumble, and I am the only one to understand them.

  I know them, I know them very well. Those are the same words that a kid said many years ago at a lakeshore. They are better now, they have been customized, but the concept has not changed. They are his hymn to battle, the dragging force that has moved the whole world.

  Who knows if he ever thinks of me, to this useless man who drags his existence into the most cowardly of the ways, who has never been able to do anything unless he stimulates the pity of others. He never had the courage to pursue what he believed in, to practice his teachings.

  “Another beer!”

  Only this I can do. Drink, burp, get drunk. And hope that someone is so charitable to bring me back home.

  “It’s a sucker!”

  “I would kill that fucking nigger!”

  “It is shameful that he’s allowed to give us orders!”

  I’m smiling, because this news has also been leaked, despite the government’s attempt to hide it. An embargo motion against Italy was filed because it was suspected of fomenting racial hatred.

  “What do you think, Guglielmo?”

  It’s so easy to pretend. I wink on the screen and spit on the floor.

  “Dirty nigger!” I shout, and I drink my beer.

  Everyone applauds.

  May 2011

  ANOTHER LIFE

  Translation by Alfio Loreti

  “Come on, fucking nigger! Use those legs, push it!”

  The whip snapped, but it was Zeb to get struck. Moses continued to push, with all his strength. The stretched string was against his chest, making a bloody scar.

  The ox was in front of them, and even he pushed, the hooves pointed at the ground. The whip also struck him, who bellowed.

  “Come on, come on!” roared master Hennessy. “You are useless, you are useless!”

  Those damn roots right in the middle of the new field that master Hennessy had just bought were bed news.

  In the past, the woods came all the way up there, and although the trunks had been cut off and the ground was leveled, the roots of the trees had created an intricate underground that prevented any cultivation.

  They were already two days that they were working there and so far, they extracted the roots of eight trees, but the field was vast. Moses doubted that he would survive. He and Zeb, as well as the old ox, had to get out one tree root after the other without rest.

  It was not rich, Master Hennessy. He had a nice house, yes, sometimes Moses got in, where he lived with his wife and daughter. He had only two slaves able to work in the fields, Zeb and Moses. Moses’s wife, Pheby, cooked for them and Spencer, their only son who thank God, was helping in the house serving on the table. He was still too young for the life in the fields, even though Moses feared he would sooner or later reach them.

  Master Hennessy shouldn’t have bought that field, they couldn’t cultivate it, they were just not enough. They wouldn’t have been enough even without finding that impediment. He always said he would buy another slave, but the opportunity had not come up, or perhaps he didn’t look for it.

  He wasn’t a good master, Hennessy, too demanding and violent, easy to anger. Moses never complained, he had a family to look after. Zeb was older than he was, but he was defeated, perhaps he had always been since birth.

  When the root came off the ground, Moses and Zeb fell to the ground for the rebound. The ox went on his way, dragging them for a few feet, along with the strings they were tied to.

  “What the hell is that?”

  They struggled to breathe, they didn’t have the strength to stand up, Moses saw Master Hennessy come down from the horse and looked puzzled the root they had extracted. He looked at him getting closer and then come back. He seemed worried.

  Moses helped Zeb to get up, then they dragged themselves to the hole. Things were about to get nasty.

  Master Hennessy was silent. Moses studied the strange object entangled in the root and understood why it had been so complicated to pull it out. It looked like iron and was very big. Though it has been underground for long time it had not rusted. It had an elongated shape, like that of a rifle bullet, only that it was over a meter long.

  “Don’t touch it”, said Master Hennessy, with an unusually weak voice.

  “What is it, master?”, he dared to ask Zeb.

  Hennessy didn’t know, but perhaps he suspected something, because he was more and more worried. “It must have been here for a long time.”

  The roots had surrounded it, as if the tree had grown up around it, had incorporated it and it would not have been easy to pull it out.

  “What should we do?”

  Master Hennessy didn’t even know that, but he turned back. He was torn, that object could be dangerous, but he couldn’t leave it there if he hoped one day to use that field.

  He didn’t want to endanger his slaves, but he couldn’t do otherwise. “Don’t touch it, take the root off. There, along with the others.”

  In saying this he went back to the edge of the field.

  Moses began to be afraid and asked Zeb for advice. “What do you think it is?”

  Zeb grimaced, for he had the same idea of Master Hennessy. “A bullet.”

  Moses was tempted to smile. “There are no such great guns!”

  “Not a shotgun’s, stupid! A cannon’s one!”

  Moses had never seen a cannon, so he considered it possible. “And is it dangerous?”

  “I don’t know. It’s better not to move it too much.”

  They would never have been able to drag it across the field.

  Moses turned to look at Master Hennessy and saw that the man was telling him to continue. He felt even worse.

  “What do we have to do?”

  “What he said.”

  There was no choice. Even though they were endangering their lives, they couldn’t disobey.

  “He would never risk old Athos”, Zeb said.

  They called him this way, the ox. Moses had his doubts. That field had become an obsession for Master Hennessy, he would never give it up.

  It pretended to believe it, even to comfort Zeb, and he began to pray. He prayed all the way as they dragged that root on the ground. They tried to smooth it, to remove every stone, so that it would not hit that strange thing. They were slow, but Master Hennessy didn’t complain.

  When they reached the boundary of the field they rolled that root together with the others and breathed a sigh of relief.

  “Finally!”, said Master Hennessy, recovering his vigor. “Useless! Always to waste time!”

  And he continued to shout as long as the sun didn’t start coming down and it was time to go home.

  Moses and Pheby lived in a hut, next to their masters’ house. Zeb lived with them, his bed was in a corner, separated only by a hanging sheet. There was not much intimacy, they slept all to
gether, and in the same room they cooked and ate.

  Pheby was waiting for him in front of the door, and this was a new reason to be concern for Moses. At that time she should have been in the mansion to serve dinner. Normally she wasn’t allowed to go back home before very late at night.

  “Talk to him”, she said. “Help him out.” As her husband didn’t understand, she shook her head wearily. “He messed it up again and this time he has been whipped.”

  Moses felt his heart in his throat. “Who did it?”

  “Who do you think it was?”, Pheby replied, annoyed. “Mrs. Hennessy, that witch!”

  She clutched an arm to her husband and said nothing else. She walked in the house.

  Zeb was exhausted, but he sighed. “I’m going to check on the animals.”

  He had given him some intimacy, and Moses was grateful. It was not easy for him to accept certain things. Though Spencer was his son, Hennessy remained his masters, and they could do anything they wanted.

  He walked into the cabin head down, because that task was too heavy for him.

  Spencer was on the floor, lying on the bed, and he was crying. Pheby had already taken care of him, in fact he had a wrap on his shoulders, but a few drops of blood had already dirty him. The baby was eight years old, but it was so small and fragile that looked only like he was six.

  It didn’t matter what he did, spurned a glass, or dropped a stack to the ground, Spencer was not fit to serve at the Master’s home. He always had his head full of dreams, he didn’t concentrate. Every week he was punished at least once. Soon, very soon, he would find himself working in the fields.

  What could Moses say? What advice could he give his son? How could he have reassured him?

  He just sat at the table and started crying too.

  “What’s that?”

  Moses silenced her immediately, pointing to the sheet behind which Zeb was asleep from a couple of hours.

  Pheby was exhausted. Without Spencer helping her, her work had been even heavier and she had to stay more than usual. At dawn, she would have be back in the house to prepare breakfast.

  “What’s that?”, she asked again lower. “Where did you get it? Did you steal it?”

  Moses shrugged. In fact, he didn’t even know it. “We found it in the field. The master made me throw it away.”

  This didn’t change the situation at all. Pheby turned around the table, looking at the strange object Moses had laid on it. “What purpose does it serve?”

  “I think it’s a bullet, or it’s part of a weapon. Something like that.”

  She almost screamed. “And you brought it here? Throw it away. Don’t touch it. It could harm you.” She didn’t even know how to behave. “Why did you do that?”

  Moses didn’t know, he had no justification. As soon as Spencer had fallen asleep, he was back in the field. It took almost an hour to free the object from the roots that imprisoned it. He had found it unusually light, given the size. It hadn’t been a problem to bring it home.

  Maybe it was worth something, but for whom? They were slaves, they wouldn’t even be able to sell it, he was just looking for trouble. Perhaps he had only taken it because he wanted to find out what it was.

  “What does it mean? Tell me something!”

  Moses begged her to silence, but it was too late. It was Spencer to wake up, fortunately, and not Zeb.

  “What is it, Daddy?”

  Moses was happy to see that he had stopped crying. Curiosity once again had been stronger than pain. When he got up, Pheby tried to stop him.

  “I’m ok, I’m fine.”

  But it was not true, because he reached the table staggering. Seeing his condition, Moses was ashamed and lowered his head.

  Spencer looked at that thing, which was bigger than him. He turned around the table, astonished.

  “Don’t touch it, it’s dangerous!”, Pheby said. “It’s a weapon. Dad was crazy enough to bring it here.”

  Spencer climbed into a chair, pointing out something, almost touching it. “There’s something written here.”

  There were marks, yes, Moses had also noticed it, but he had never learned to read or write.

  Pheby tightened her lips, trying to hold back, but without succeeding. “Can you read it, Spencer?”

  Even Moses flinched. It was wrong, terribly wrong, if the masters found out they wouldn’t punish him with some whipped only. But it was not Spencer’s fault, Miss Lily was the cause of everything.

  Miss Lily was the daughter of Hennessy, she was sixteen and was a rebel. She wasn’t happy about living in the farm, she wanted to go to school, even though she was a female. She always argued with her parents, and ultimately, she was the cause of most of the punishments that had been inflicted on Spencer.

  She filled his mind with absurd ideas, told him that there were no slaves in the North, that slavery was wrong, she even taught him to read, secretly. She was an irresponsible girl, although she had always been kind to them, one day she would have caused Spencer’s ruin, Moses was sure.

  “I don’t know this word”, Spencer said. “I never learned it. I have to ask Miss Lily.”

  “What’s written?” Pheby asked.

  “TIME C-A-P-S-U-L-E. I don’t know what the capsule word is, though. There are also numbers. 15122050.”

  “It must be the trademark of the builder”, Moses said, because he found something similar to other objects too.

  Strange name, time capsule. Who knows what does it mean. Moses dismissed the matter and took Spencer, trying not to hurt him. “In bed now. It’s late. Tomorrow we will decide what to do.”

  The strange thing, similar to a bullet and called time capsule, remained there, lonely on the table, in the dark.

  Moses almost yelled. Pheby had put her nails in his arm. Her eyes were wide open, but the sun had not yet arisen. His wife seemed paralyzed, looking at the table.

  The capsule was still there, but Spencer was there also. He was touching it, moving it.

  Moses tried to keep his voice low, not to frighten him. “Get away from there. Don’t touch it. Slowly.”

  Spencer didn’t look like he understood. He kept tightening that object and shaking it.

  Moses stood up carefully, approaching it fearfully. “Spencer, I told you not to touch it, it can be dangerous.”

  There was a whistling noise and Pheby groaned. Spencer instead looked at them smiling. “I’ve done it! I opened it!”

  There were things inside. Items.

  It didn’t look like a weapon, not at all.

  The lid ha been removed completely and now it lay aside. It didn’t look like a bullet now, more like a giant pot.

  Spencer was thrilled, and Moses interrogated Pheby. “Shall we get them out?”

  Those objects looked innocuous at first sight.

  She didn’t answer, she didn’t feel like taking that responsibility.

  Moses did it, and started pulling them out of the pot. There were three books, even he knew what they were. They were a bit different from what he had seen so far and the cover was all drawn. He set them aside.

  There was a square with bright lights moving. They looked like numbers. They all looked at that thing, with mouth open.

  There were letters, a bunch of them. He didn’t know how many because he couldn’t count.

  There were medals, at least what they thought to be medals, like the ones they gave to the soldiers. And then cups, yes, they had seen cups already. Many cups, but these were much more beautiful.

  Then there were those that looked like newspapers, but they were full of designs so realistic that they looked like real people. That scared him.

  He hid them under the books, because Pheby wouldn’t notice them.

  Books, all written. And finally, a strange, square, very big book.

  Spencer took it. He opened it before they could stop him.

  The sun was rising, and it firstly came from the window. Very soon Pheby would have to go to work.

 
There were some prints on the first-page, all different, made with strange inks, in many colors. When Spencer turned the page, they were shocked, even Pheby.

  It was a great design that filled the whole page. It was the most realistic drawing they had ever seen. There were so many people in there, really a lot. Not people actually, almost all of them were children. There were very few adults.

  But it wasn’t that to upset them, though. Some of those kids were like them. The ones with dark skin stood beside the other with white skin. They were bigger than Spencer, but not like Miss Lily, and the black kids held the white children’s hands as if there was nothing strange about it. In the center of the photo there was one in particular, a black kid with glasses, who couldn’t be more than thirteen or fourteen years old. It looked like the one they were celebrating, he held two of the cups they had found inside the capsule and smiled. The white children around him were clapping their hands.

  Moses felt almost sick. He closed the book and said: “We shouldn’t have this! Let’s burn it. Now!”

  They had seen it. Spencer had seen it. He had seen a different world, the world that Miss Lily wondered about. Was this the North? Was this what happened up the North? No, he couldn’t believe it, there was no such a place anywhere in the world where white and black could be together. Not that way. It was just a drawing, a drawing so perfect to look real, yet it was not. It was a dream, a dream of something that didn’t exist.

  “No, Daddy, I beg you. Don’t do it.”

  Pheby had gone to work. Soon Moses had to go too. Any moment Zeb would wake up. Spencer was feeling too bad and he would stay home that day. The master had given him the permission.

  Moses had to decide, there was no time left. He had promised Pheby that he would throw everything away, and those objects terrorized him, and yet the desperate look of his son kept him from doing so.

  If the masters had found them with such a drawing, he whipped them to death. Why take such a risk?

  “Please!”

  Zeb was waking up, Moses heard the noise over the curtain. He grabbed the capsule and took it to the corner of the room. He put other objects in front of it as to hide it.