Skin Trials

by S Y Humphrey

  Yet they were content, oblivious, as elderly women rocked and slipped from cups, watching the children in their house gowns. Some with hair in their curlers, wearing big, outdated eyeglasses. Others, whose faces were long, appeared to have given up.

  Of everything Seren saw as they drove by, the most common possession of all was the radio.

  She noticed that they must have depended on it as heavily as she depended on her 3Vision.

  “What is the name of this place?” Seren finally asked in disgust. When she got back to the Rockies, she would have her father do something about it.

  “Low Country, where the slaves shipped from Africa were unloaded on those docks, then brought for auction sale to this here street.” They pulled into a small, old-fashioned town, stopping in front of a brothel where he knew more people.

  Up the stairs, over the brothel, N.G. handed Seren a pair of scissors.

  “We will do a lot of walking, and your hair can’t get caught on anything. Go ahead and get it over with. You can fry it and dye it blonde again later, like all the other narcissistic chicks. We’ve got to go.”

  Holding the scissors close to her scalp, her finger shook while she chopped off the first patch of her long, blonde locks. She had no idea how much she relied on it until now, to validate her, elevate her presence and stature. When she stared at the uneven patches that remained, she felt naked. She inserted another dark contact to mute her blue eye and match them. Before walking out of the bathroom, she did not recognize herself.

  “Better,” Pike gasped, his eyes softening. Seren brushed it off as him getting woozy in his loss of blood.

  “I have something for you,” she said, pulling out the note Nasreen had given her early on. Since they were separating tonight, she didn’t want to forget about it later, or for it to become destroyed once they reached water.

  His face crumpled, and she watched him break for the first time on this trip. “Man, you are one foul person,” he spat. Aiming his finger at her, he demanded, “Why didn’t you give me this already?”

  N.G. stopped going over the map with somebody on face-to-face video, at the sound of Pike’s rising upset.

  “It wasn’t for you,” Seren answered. “She wanted me to give it to my father.”

  His eyes disappeared into some other place, as he laid back against the pillow with the note clutched to his chest.

  “Alright folks, let’s disappear,” N.G. called.

  They said goodbye to Pike, who extended his hand out towards Seren, for her to retake the note. “When you get back to your slice of heaven, do something,” he said gruffly.

  Seren held still while NG took one of the many VScan portable devices she had seen up North and held it to her eye, scamming her pupils, and then scanning in her finger tips. He then turned to the busty waitress.

  “Gloria, you’ll drive Pike to one of these fine Charleston Tier One hospitals in a few hours, once we have a good lead and we’re out of South Carolina.”

  “And what if I get stopped at a checkpoint on the way to the hospital?”

  “Play this video for them. They will find Jernigan, and Jernigan will have to order them to let you all pass and get to a hospital.”

  On the video was Seren’s prerecorded plea to her father that she had recorded right after she cut off her hair, so as to make herself look like a victim whose life was on the line.

  Pike and NG embraced tightly, and once again Seren watched with envy the tight bonds and emotion that she rarely saw in her own house back home. Her parents loved her. Lyndon’s parents loved him. But these embraces seemed more raw.

  Going back down the stairs, Seren could not stop her feet from wondering back to the cage. She stepped over the people on the floor. She went to the wall and stretched out her hand, and lifted one of the heavy chains. The ancient manacles had not been a trick of her imagination. Rugged cast-iron weighed down her hand. She set it back down as she would the Holy Grail.

  Some of N.G.’s friends handed him a few items, particularly a sawed-off gun, some pieces of gold to buy off at least a couple of officers, and keys to three homes in the area, either owned or maintained by the descendants of slaves.

  “Some of these old plantations still have people working them. They’ll take you in, and won’t rat you out. They’ve been helping people escape for centuries. If one of them meets you in the basin and tells you to come in, do it. Trust them. No matter how much money is involved or how many beatings, they will not turn on you,” one of the men whispered.

  Underneath their clothes, Seren and N.G. had put on diving suits. “In case you have to get in the water or wade through the swamp. And by the way, there are alligators and water moccasins. You see one, hold still. Don’t scream or run.”

  Seren took the locket and necklace out of the bag. She didn’t open it, instead wrapping it in plastic before balling it up and shoving it inside her swimsuit. She hoped that kept it dry in case they did enter water.

  They entered the night, leaving the Slave Market, and starting out on foot, walking in the heat toward a boating port. She found herself jerking her eyes from one side of the street to the other, constantly looking for other signs of humans having been sold. Burning up in the hot heat underneath layers of clothing, they casually carried bottled water to stay hydrated through the sweat. Passing the major ports in the distance, she could see the flashing blue and red lights, as they watch officers and agents checking IDs of people hoarding the boats. They kept walking, while some of the men rolled the street in a couple of cars hanging back. They meandered through mossy dilapidated buildings away from the front Street. Walking a quiet path through the hanging lost trees, they kept silent, full frogs, crickets and locusts created their company. They walked the past about a block away from the street. After walking about half a mile toward the shore, they saw one of the cars of men blink his headlights, indicating the house where they would go to dock a small fishing boat.

  Seren must’ve passed the loveliest home she had seen since she had entered the South. Sitting far back from the other properties about two blocks away, as if to be situated on a throne, with an Avenue made of hanging oaks. They moved in another direction to a small house on its property, where an old woman and elderly man awaited them.

  “Come on! Hurry, child, you don’t have long. Reports have been going out on the radio all day.”

  The woman reminded her of Corrine, how strong, caring and commanding she was. They hurried over to the small boating dock, where they saw a small unassuming tugboat. They got on, and climbed into a large box used as a cooler for fish. Right then it was empty, Except for some ice packs to stay cool and a couple of bottles of water.

  “All right now, y’all, I tap my foot one time, it’s all right to come out a little bit. I tap my foot two times, you’ll have to jump out the other side and hide. Understand?” The old man asked, his wrinkled caramel face looking like weathered leather.

  She and NG indicated they understood, and climbed inside.

  “Now you remember little girl, this ain’t the city. Don’t try any of that fancy stuff down here. There ain’t no technology or nothing that can save you from them hound dogs, you hear me? Do exactly as he says.”

  “Yes ma’am,” Seren found herself answering respectfully, as she’d heard NG address her. And as she’d heard Mabel’s son address Corrine.

  “This ride should be about three hours. Should be over in no time.”

  The box closed and the motor started. They started their dissent down Ashley River, and Seren apply the ice packs inside her wet suit to offset the fierce burning. They rode a few minutes before Charlie tapped his foot one time. Gratefully NG shoved the lid up a bit. But the human blanket of air greeted them provided no relief. Still they stuck out their heads from the box to feel some sort of draft from the movement of the boat.

  “So you are one of them fancy folks from out West in the Rockies?” Charlie asked.

  “Actually, I’m from Mississippi,” Seren an
swered, Choosing her words very carefully. For even though they had been promised protection, she casts of suspecting eye on anybody who made wealth their first question.

  “Mississippi!” He laughed. “Old Biloxi. One of my favorite gambling holes. Whereabouts is you from?”

  She stared at NG.

  “We’re actually from Hinds County, Sir. Got some friends here too though. You been here all of your life?”

  “Yup.” He answered before opening a canister, and throwing a bunch of brown tobacco in his mouth, working it around inside his bottom lip and chewing on it. “My ancestors is Gola. Worked these here plantations from back in the 1700s. Back when rice was Carolina gold. Shipped here from Sierra Leone, and unloaded right on some of these docs.” New

  As he said it, they rode through what appeared to be a large lake, filled with tall hanging trees. Seren watched along to make quietly float down the beautiful water that appeared to be a mirror reflecting the swap trees in the moonlight. In the distance, through the beautiful Oaks and Maple trees, stretched more green grass that led to lush yards, on which sat lavish houses. In the night, Seren could see some people working. As they passed between plantations, they meandered through narrow marsh toward tall fields.

  “Who are those people? What are they doing?”

  “Sharecroppers. Who still work this land, growing the rice,” Charlie answered.

  “But I thought rice plantations did after the Civil War,” Seren said.

  “Most. Not all. That is what these country folks tell you proper city folks. Couldn’t be further from the truth. They still making money. They just learned to keep it quiet on their private property.”

  He lifted his hand up and waved, and some of the workers standing amid tall fields of yellow plants waved back. He spat out some of the brown juice into the water.

  NG’s phone lit up, with a face-to-face video ping from one of the men at the Slave Market. “Problem. Coast Guard. Get out.”

  “We thank you, for the ride,” NG said, pulling Seren to get out of the box. Far away, a faint searchlight approached from

  Before they could jump out, they turned to find the man swinging a long, double-barreled shotgun inches from them.

  “You’re not going nowhere, son. You didn’t think it looks funny — you walking around with a white girl wearing an Afro? You didn’t think I knew who she was? You kidnapped this girl! Young lady, you stay right there. The authorities will be here soon.”

  “Sir, no, you’ve got the wrong understanding,” NG said.

  “Well, I understand that they say she was kidnapped. Is that true?” he said looking at Seren.

  Seren’s eyes followed the barrel swinging between her and NG. “No, that’s not true, sir. This man is taking me to my biological family. Do you know who Stephen Jernigan is? The businessman.”

  “Military,” Charlie said. “He’s been on the radio begging for anybody who finds you to bring you to him.”

  “No! I mean, that’s right. But he’s not a good man. Did you hear that I’m not really white? I’m bl-” Seren’s throat choked, balking at having to say the words. The old man’s leathery eyes forced her to get her story straight. “Black. I’m really black. Mr. Jernigan turned me white a long time ago, and now this good man here is trying to reunite me with my family. In Mississippi.”

  The searchlight grew closer, as they heard the rising sound of a speedboat on the water.

  “Sir, you know it’s true. You know those rich folks from the Rocky Mountains been taking their choice of blacks out of the South for years,” NG pleaded. “The better blacks. The ones born with good DNA.”

  The shotgun inches from her face, Seren moved over, reaching, and dipped her hand into the water. Then rubbed off the makeup on her face. “You see? I was born black. Mr. Jernigan turned me white. It’s starting to wear off. If you make me go back to him, I’ll never meet my real family. Please.”

  Old Charlie pulled the barrel away. “Well, that makes a whole lot more sense than that bologna you first told me. You don’t talk like you from no Hinds County.” He threw open the lid again and revealed a deeper level inside the box. It was a hidden compartment. “Get in.”

  They jumped six feet, to the very bottom of the boat, and he threw the lid over them. As they sat in smothering heat, they heard numerous objects thrown on top of the lid. Then a second lid closed at the very top. They rode along for a couple more minutes, before hearing the sound of a motorboat speed to the side of them.

  “Howdy, Mr. Charlie, another one of your night rides?” they heard another man ask.

  “You’d better know it! Got me some good catch in here!” Old Charlie bragged, throwing out a jolly laugh for good measure.

  “Come to think of it, I think I will now,” the other male voice said. “You hear about this little girl that’s missing? Say she’s mulatto— face is part white, part black. Kidnapped by a black man. Her old man’s offering up a lot of money to get her back.”

  Paralyzed by either terror or overheating, they sat still for the sound of heavy shoes stepping against the woods over their heads.

  “Yep, heard about it on the radio. Craziest stuff I ever heard. White girl being black.”

  “You haven’t seen nothing like that around here, have ya?” the younger voice inquired. “Some folks a few towns over say they saw her at at a smokehouse picking herself up a pork sandwich!”

  More laughter. “Naw, I don’t see too many pretty mulattos out here braving this swamp.”

  Even more laughter. Seren and NG listened. Southerners sure did love to cover their hidden motives with laughter.

  “Mind if I take a look in this here cooler? See what you’re working with?” the officer asked.

  “Sure, but just don’t take none. The missus won’t be too happy about that.”

  Seren heard the top lid opened. Then a long whistle. “Whewee! Look at the size of them bass! Looks like somebody’ll be eating good this Sunday!” the officer said.

  “No, sir, they’ll be on sale over at the Farmer’s Market first thing in the morning. Good trades for my bartering.”

  “Well, Charlie, forgive me for disturbing you. Just doing the old job. You know how that goes,” the officer said, and Seren heard the boots stepping off. Just as he did, Seren dropped her ice packet.

  “You hear that? What was that?” a third male voice asked from above. “Something deeper in the boat. Movement. You got anybody else in that boat with you, sir?”

  Old Charlie laughed once more. “Only that alligator right there. Must’ve bumped my hull on the way up. They keeps me company sometime.”

  Even more laughter. “Charlie, say hello to Gussie for me, will you? Night, Charlie!”

  Several excruciating seconds later, they heard the liberating sound of the motorboat speeding off. When Charlie finally lifted the two lids, Seren and NG welcomed even the stifled air.

  “Thank you,” Seren said.

  “Yep,” he said in a detached, unaffected drawl. Driving the boat onward at a slow, unsuspicious pace, he swung his jaw from side to side as he chewed tobacco. NG sent the Big Man from the slave market a face-to-face video that they were fine.

  Further down the trees, they entered the marsh, the areas of Low Country looked different from one locale to the next. In one glance, they were staring at the tall weeds surrounding a lovely old plantation, manicured and groomed to perfection. The next moment, they meandered through placid waters and trees that could have easily been mistaken for a mirror. The water was so black and smooth it emulated oil. They moved the boat through the tall moss trees, some of them swiping Seren face.

  “How many people have you bought through here?” NG asked.

  “I’ve probably brought about thirty, mostly young men accused of one thing or another. If they cough up the money, after their arrest, they get out on bail, and their lawyers set them up with me.”

  “And this doesn’t scare you?” she asked.

  “Every single time,” he answere
d. “But driving this here boat, and knowing the Low Country like I do, it would scare me more to just sit by and watch.”

  “Why don’t you leave?” Seren asked.

  “Never left the South in all my life. It’s all I know. Besides, that ain’t going to help nothing. My people tended this land. At least here, something in this world is belongs to me.”

  They approached the city in the distance, and even that looked peaceful and plain.

  “You’ll need to get off before we approach another major harbor,” Charlie noted.

  “I’ve got a connection in the Coast Guard, who should be coming up here any moment now,” NG replied.

  No summer then he said it did they see another headlight on a boat.

  “Are you sure that’s him?” Seren asked.

  “Why don’t you get back down, and I’ll ask for you?” Charlie said.

  They repeated the same process again, getting back in the bottom part of the box.

  The motorboat pulled up.

  “Excuse me, Sir, you helping out a group called Anthistemi?”

  “Anthi… what? Been fishing out here on my boat all night.”

  “Sir, we will rebuild this country from the ashes of our fight.”

  “What did you just - -?”

  Right then, they heard four taps that formed a rhythm against the boat. NG responded by hitting the inside of the box, giving it three taps. “It’s the Anthistemi motto. He’s with us.”

  Slow and hesitant, they heard Charlie’s boots approach their box and then opened each lid one by one. Once the atmosphere was revealed again, indeed they saw a lone Coast Guard officer looking back at them.

  “Here to give you guys a ride down into Florida. Best hurry though. Another boat is coming to search shortly,” the officer said.

  “Hope it all works out for you,” Charlie said. His wave goodbye was simple as he turned the boat around with the same fanfare.

  Following the officer’s direction, they entered the boat and hid underneath blankets and supplies.

  “So the game plan is they are expecting you in Atlanta in twelve hours, at 6 PM, at Cardinal Stadium. To make this exchange. This girl for some scientist. What’s supposed to happen after that?”