Forty Acres

by Dwayne Alexander Smith

  “All right, get moving,” Roy barked at the slaves. “I’m not in the mood for any bullshit this morning.”

  The slaves filed past Martin on their way to the door. Some patted Martin on the arm or squeezed his hand or just met his eyes for a moment. Otis and his wife each left Martin with an affirming nod before they followed the others off to work. Vincent, the big man, paused before Martin and looked him straight in the eye.

  “Vincent,” Roy yelled, “keep your ass moving.”

  Vince ignored the order and extended his hand to Martin. “Vincent Clarke,” he said. “Charlottesville. Three years.”

  Martin shook Vincent’s hand.

  “Vincent, I’m not going to tell you again, goddamnit!”

  Vincent nodded to Martin, then trailed the others out the door.

  Roy brushed past Martin as if he weren’t there and glared down at Alice’s sleeping form. He nudged Alice with his booted foot. “Hey.”

  Alice, brow beaded with sweat, moaned and stirred.

  Martin’s jaw clenched as he watched Roy nudge her with his boot again, harder. “You hear me?” Roy said. “Time to work.”

  Alice groaned and tossed fitfully. Her eyes strained to open, but she was too weak.

  Roy sighed. “I can’t believe this bullshit.”

  “Can’t you see the girl’s too sick to work?” Martin said.

  Roy whirled and drove his fist hard into Martin’s gut. Martin gasped and folded to the floor in a ball of lingering dull pain. Suddenly Martin’s entire world was the spit-shined tips of Roy’s combat boots.

  Roy glared down at Martin’s writhing form with perfect contempt. “Don’t you ever say another word to me, traitor.” Roy turned to the guards at the door. “Two of you escort this piece of shit to the main house. They’re waiting for him.”

  One of the guards pointed to Alice. “What about her?”

  Roy watched the girl loll and mumble incoherently. “Let her be. But if she can’t work tomorrow, bury her.” With that, Roy marched out.

  Martin shifted on the floor to afford himself one last look at Alice. He could see that she was settling again, drifting back off to sleep.

  Martin felt himself seized by both arms and hoisted off the ground. “Time to die, asshole,” one of the guards snarled, then Martin was dragged across the chamber and out the door.

  CHAPTER 78

  Martin, eat something. Please,” Dr. Kasim said as he gestured to the breakfast banquet laid out before them. “Surely you must be hungry after last night’s adventure.”

  Martin and Dr. Kasim were in the dining room, seated at opposite ends of the table. Dr. Kasim was draped in a simple African print robe. His carved walking staff leaned against the end of the table. Martin still wore the hooded fleece jacket and hiking attire from the previous night.

  The spread of morning favorites, everything from pancakes and waffles to poached eggs and fresh ham, was as plentiful and beautifully arranged as always. There was even a cheerful centerpiece of fresh-cut flowers.

  Martin didn’t touch a thing. He just sat there, empty plate in front of him, staring in shock at the other two men seated at Dr. Kasim’s breakfast table.

  The two white forest rangers.

  Seated directly across from each other, both men were dressed in their green-and-khaki uniforms. Wide-brimmed ranger hats rested on the table beside their plates. The senior ranger was tall and barrel-­chested, with more hair on his rugged face than on his head. His partner was about ten years younger, wiry thin, with a black mop of hair that seemed a bit too long for his chosen profession. Both men wolfed down eggs and pancakes and slurped coffee, apparently taking no notice of Martin.

  “Is there a problem, Mr. Grey?” Dr. Kasim asked across the table. “If there’s something you want that’s not here, I’ll have one of the girls fetch it.” He waved to the two white slave girls who waited against the wall. One of the girls was Felicia.

  Martin said nothing, his thoughts in a maelstrom of disbelief. The fact that the two white men seated before him were collaborators in Dr. Kasim’s madness was almost too much to take. Now it was clear why Oscar had given in so easily. Martin’s escape plan was doomed from the start. By inviting the two rangers to breakfast, Dr. Kasim wasn’t merely rubbing Martin’s nose in his failure, he was also sending Martin a clear message about the reach of his power.

  “What’s wrong?” the young forest ranger said, looking at Martin for the first time while reaching with his fork for more sausages. “Don’t like our company?”

  When Martin failed to respond, Dr. Kasim jumped in. “Nonsense, Mr. Grey loves you white folks. Even more than life itself, it would seem.”

  Martin’s eyes flicked angrily to the old doctor.

  Dr. Kasim responded with a thin smile that almost seemed pleasant.

  “You should really try the blueberry pancakes,” the older ranger said to Martin. “They’re delicious.” Then he turned and snapped his fingers at Felicia. “Get the man some pancakes.”

  “Yes, sir.” Felicia approached the table, transferred two pancakes from the warmer to Martin’s empty plate, and then returned to her spot against the wall.

  Martin didn’t even look at the pancakes.

  “You really should try them,” Dr. Kasim said. “They’re actually made from your wife’s recipe. Fitting, considering the significance of this meal, don’t you think?”

  These words made Martin wince: Dr. Kasim’s way of pushing the knife even deeper.

  “Try one bite. After all my trouble that’s the least—”

  “I don’t want any damn pancakes!” Martin yelled as he stood bolt upright and swiped his place setting from the table. Plates and silverware landed with a crash. “If you think that I’m going to just sit here and chitchat with you, you’re crazy!”

  Both rangers shot to their feet, but before they could act, the dining room door burst open and two guards charged in, weapons drawn.

  Dr. Kasim raised a staying hand. “It’s okay. It’s okay.”

  The two guards froze but remained coiled for violence. Dr. Kasim met Martin’s angry stare. “Sit down, Mr. Grey. There is much to discuss and I would prefer to do that without you in shackles.”

  Martin sank back to his seat.

  With a wave of his hand Dr. Kasim dismissed the two guards and the shaken servant girls. Finally he smiled at the two rangers as if nothing had occurred. “Thank you for joining me for breakfast this morning. You can expect something extra this month.”

  The rangers nodded appreciatively.

  Martin watched as the two uniformed white men picked up their hats and started for the door. Neither man even glanced in Martin’s direction. It was as if, for them, he had already been erased from existence.

  The instant the door clicked shut, Dr. Kasim wagged a finger at Martin. “That fire in you. That’s your Zantu blood that you are so eager to deny.”

  “Bullshit,” Martin hissed. The word tasted good in his mouth, far more satisfying than any dish on the table. His mask finally off, there was no longer a need to suffer through Dr. Kasim’s tiresome musings. “That whole black noise theory of yours, total bullshit,” he said. “You’re no philosopher or spiritual leader or even a doctor. You’re just an evil, angry old man.”

  For a moment, Dr. Kasim just stroked his white whiskers and held the faintest smile. “Did that feel good?” he finally said. “Must have been difficult for you to keep your true feelings hidden these last couple of days.”

  “You have no idea, old man.”

  “I’m about to prove to you that you’re wrong, Martin.” Dr. Kasim turned to the door. “Bring it.”

  One of the guards entered, dropped a manila envelope in front of Martin, then left the two men alone again.

  Martin stared at the perfectly flat envelope. He couldn’t imagine what was inside; all the same,
it terrified him.

  “Go on,” Dr. Kasim said, “open it.”

  Martin unwound the thin red cord and peeled back the flap. Reaching into the envelope felt like sticking his hand into the mouth of a lion.

  Martin withdrew a photograph printed on a standard letter-size sheet of paper. The image was taken outdoors and had the telescopic feel of a professional surveillance photo. It was a shot of Anna talking to a woman whom Martin did not recognize. But the fact that he was staring at a photograph of his wife given to him by Dr. Kasim was enough. The fear and desperation that he felt had just been ratcheted up tenfold.

  “What—what is this?” Martin’s voice cracked.

  Dr. Kasim took his time, letting the moment stew. “That, Martin, is your wife. Causing trouble.”

  “I—I don’t understand.”

  “That woman she’s speaking to, her name is Christine Jackson. Donald Jackson’s widow.”

  Martin stiffened.

  “Now, why do you suppose your nosy little wife would go through the trouble of tracking down Mrs. Jackson?”

  “I—I don’t know,” Martin said, shaking his head. “She was just worried about the trip. She’s not a threat to you.”

  “Maybe, maybe not.” Dr. Kasim leaned forward in his seat. “Now, if I’m an evil old man like you say, she’d already be dead, wouldn’t she?”

  “Please,” Martin said. “Leave Anna out of this.”

  “Have you been paying attention? She put herself in it. And by the way, your nosy wife isn’t the only family member you need to worry about.”

  Martin’s mind reeled with confusion. “What? What are you talking about?”

  Dr. Kasim’s eyes dropped to the envelope. “You’re not done.”

  Martin’s trembling hand slid into the envelope once more and withdrew another photograph. It was another surveillance shot of Anna. She was alone and appeared to be exiting an office building. Baffled, Martin looked up at Dr. Kasim. “What is this supposed to mean?”

  Dr. Kasim poured himself a cup of coffee. “That building she’s exiting,” he said, “it’s a medical building.”

  “Medical building?”

  Dr. Kasim stirred cream into his coffee. “She’s leaving her obstetrician’s office.”

  “But that doesn’t make sense. Anna doesn’t have an—” Martin stopped short when he saw that look in Dr. Kasim’s eye, a knowing look that forced Martin to instantly see the truth. “No, that’s impossible. She would have told me.”

  Dr. Kasim took a slow sip of coffee, then said, “Anna’s two months pregnant, Martin. She just found out. I’m sure she’s eager for you to return home so that she can tell you the wonderful news.”

  Martin recoiled with emotion. Anna pregnant? It was too much to absorb, too hard to believe. “How do you know this?” Martin asked, his eyes welling with tears. “How do I know you’re not lying?”

  Dr. Kasim took another sip of coffee, then carefully set down his cup. “Do I really need to answer that question? Does it even matter?”

  Martin knew he was right. The answer was obvious. Dr. Kasim’s people, whoever they were, knew everything, and they were watching Anna. Watching her every move.

  Through gritted teeth Martin said, “If you hurt my wife, I’ll—”

  The bored look on Dr. Kasim’s face stopped Martin cold. Martin’s threat was meaningless and they both knew it. “We can fix this,” Martin said. “I’ll never tell anyone about Forty Acres. I swear. You can watch us to make sure.”

  Dr. Kasim just stared. Unmovable. Waiting for Martin to accept what was inevitable.

  Martin’s head sagged and tears rolled from his eyes. “Please. I’ll do anything you ask. Anything. Just please don’t hurt her. Don’t hurt . . . them. I’m begging you.”

  Dr. Kasim raised a hand. “No need for that. Despite what you might believe, Martin, I am not evil. I only do what needs to be done, nothing more. And certainly nothing less. This situation can all be resolved without any harm coming to your family.”

  Martin gazed at the photograph of Anna exiting the medical building. Her face was a bit blurry, but he could still make out the smile on her face. He could still see the joy in her eyes. The thought of that light fading from Anna’s eyes once she found out the news caused Martin’s soul to ache.

  “Martin, are you listening to me?”

  Martin nodded, too choked with emotion to speak.

  Dr. Kasim leaned back in his chair, crossed his legs, and folded his hands across his lap. “Here’s how it works,” he said. “In a few moments, Oscar will take you into the woods to stage your tragic accidental death. You are going to cooperate fully. If everything goes without incident, your wife and child will be very comfortable for the rest of their lives. But if there’s any difficulty— Well, I think you know what will happen. I do not make empty threats, Martin. The fate of your family is in your hands. Do you understand?”

  Martin nodded.

  “Say it,” Dr. Kasim pressed. “Look at me and tell me you understand.”

  Martin peeled his defeated eyes from the photograph. “I understand,” he said. “I will do whatever Oscar asks.”

  A satisfied smile creased Dr. Kasim’s lips. “Good. You’re doing the smart thing for your family.” Dr. Kasim turned to the door and raised his voice. “He’s ready.”

  CHAPTER 79

  Escorted by two guards, Martin stepped out of the main house onto the front porch. It was midmorning and the sky was extraordinarily clear, a perfect forever blue unbroken by even a wisp of white. The sun was golden and warm and there was a gentle breeze that carried fragrances from the nearby garden.

  It was a beautiful day to die.

  Solomon, Tobias, Kwame, Carver, and Damon were there on the porch, standing between Martin and the stairs. In the circular driveway, behind this farewell committee, Oscar stood waiting beside a blue Land Rover.

  The five men stared at Martin contemptuously, showing no trace of sympathy or compassion. Martin felt as if he were standing before a firing squad.

  “I thought you were smarter, son,” Solomon grumbled while shaking his head. “I truly did.”

  “Can’t believe you were just gonna give us up,” Tobias said. “That’s cold, brother.”

  “Brother?” Kwame practically spat the word. “You’re a traitor to your people. You’re nothing to us.”

  Surprisingly, Carver appeared the least angry. In fact, he seemed pleased by Martin’s predicament. “You never had me fooled for a second,” he said with a smile. “I knew you didn’t have what it takes the moment I laid eyes on your sorry ass.”

  Martin’s betrayal impacted Damon the hardest. The lawyer’s face was a conflict between anger and deep sorrow. His devastated eyes brimmed with tears. “I trusted you,” Damon hissed through gritted teeth. “I opened the golden fucking gates for you . . . and this is how you repay me? Why?”

  Martin looked Damon square in the eye. “You know why.”

  He turned to the others. “You all know why. Deep down, you all know.”

  “Shut up!” Damon lunged and punched Martin across the jaw. Martin’s head snapped to the side and he dropped to one knee.

  “Damon!” Oscar yelled from the driveway. It was enough to get Damon to back off.

  When Martin returned to his feet, his lower lip was trickling blood.

  “You take that to your fucking grave,” Damon growled.

  Martin locked a stare on Damon as he wiped his lip with the back of his hand. “And you remember who sent me there.”

  There was a flash of uncertainty in Damon’s glaring eyes.

  “Bring him,” Oscar called to the guards. “Let’s get this done.”

  Damon and the other men made way, allowing the two guards to usher Martin down the steps toward the waiting vehicle. Instead of his usual white suit, the overseer was garbe
d in khakis and hiking boots, an outfit more suitable for an early excursion into the woods. Oscar stepped into Martin’s path and looked him over from head to toe. “If we didn’t have to concern ourselves with suspicious injuries, I’d do far worse than punch you. Believe it.” He turned to the two massively built guards. “Jamel, Russell, ride in the back with Mr. Grey between the two of you.”

  As Jamel and Russell proceeded to load their prisoner into the back of the Land Rover, Oscar turned to Damon, who was still on the porch with the other men. “Mr. Darrell, you can ride up front with me.”

  Solomon, Tobias, Kwame, and Carver all appeared surprised by Oscar’s invitation, but no one more so than Damon himself. “No. No thanks,” Damon said to Oscar, shaking his head adamantly, “I’d rather just wait here with the others.”

  “I’m afraid I’ll have to insist,” Oscar said. “The doctor gave me specific instructions to bring you along to observe. Considering your connection to Mr. Grey, I’m sure the reasoning behind the doctor’s request is obvious.”

  All eyes turned to Damon. “Are you serious? Dr. Kasim is punishing me by making me watch?”

  Oscar frowned. “I think the doctor would characterize it more as a ‘teachable moment.’ In fact, he told me he intends to discuss it with you once we return. Now, if you don’t mind, Mr. Darrell, we need to get going.”

  Squeezed between the two guards in the rear of the Land Rover, Martin saw Damon throw up his hands in defeat, then walk toward the vehicle. When Damon yanked open the passenger’s-side door, he glared back at Martin before sliding into his seat. During that fleeting exchange, Martin thought he caught an edge of fear in Damon’s eyes. It was one thing to send a man off to his death, another thing entirely to actively participate. But as Damon fidgeted nervously with his seat belt, it occurred to Martin that Damon’s anxiousness was spawned by something far more basic, something instinctive to all human beings. Never move toward death, always move away, because if you get too close, death just might jump up and grab you too.