Nowhere Is a Place

by Bernice L. McFadden

  “Seem so.”

  “Gotta name?

  “He was passed out cold ’long the road.”

  “Who found him?”

  “Spin.”

  “What he doing out? I thought he had the fever.”

  “Can’t say. Fever left him days ago.”

  “Hmmm.”

  Willie chances it. He understands the words, smells the beans and salt pork, feels the warmth. He opens his eyes.

  Two faces, both lined and dark.

  The man wears a beaten, wide-brimmed straw hat. Big man, broad nose.

  The woman is small and old, time chipping away at her spine, leaving her stooped. Head-tied and pink-lipped, she looks down on him with wary eyes.

  “You got a name, boy?” The man touches the woman’s shoulder and she disappears behind him.

  Simple space. A tin roof; Willie supposes that it points, slopes, and then goes flat for four or more feet.

  He opens his mouth, but only squeaks.

  “Get him some water.”

  Willie hears the footfalls off to his left. Sturdy floor, he thinks. The wood plank walls end in sharp corners. A saltbox house. He’d helped build one of these when he was on the plantation. His eyes flutter with the memory.

  “Here.” The man’s big hands are gentle as they ease Willie up and help him to drink the water. The first few sips burn his throat, but then a whole desert comes to light in his gut and he has three more glasses before he gives his name.

  “Willie.”

  “Where you all come from?”

  “Kentucky.”

  “Where you all headed?”

  “Myanmar.”

  “Myanmar? What for?”

  “Don’t know, got an inkling about it.”

  Eyes swing.

  “You sure that’s where you headed?”

  Willie nods his head.

  They’d heard stories about Myanmar. Niggers being whipped in the street, strung from trees, burned alive. The devil and his disciples lived in Myanmar.

  “Niggers ain’t welcome there,” the woman says, and has to untwine his fingers from the glass in order to take it.

  “You ain’t got no business there,” the man says.

  Young, soft, black eyes peer at him from behind the big man. Willie strains his neck and the eyes disappear behind the back of the old woman whose eyes swing and then slant.

  “Here, neither,” she says. And then, “Go in the bedroom, chile.”

  A soundless agreement, shuffling feet. Willie catches sight of the swinging material of a skirt before it disappears around the corner.

  “You running?” The question is sudden.

  Willie ponders this. He is, in some respect. Running from his past, from death, running toward his future.

  “I guess.”

  Eyes blink.

  “You made it all the way from Kentucky and ain’t run into no paddy rollers?”

  Willie’s mouth twitches. “Ain’t no need for them no more,” he says slowly.

  “What you saying, boy?”

  Willie cocks his head and stares hard at the faces that look down on him before he speaks again. “War over, slavery done.”

  Faces go blank with confusion.

  “What’s that?”

  “Lincoln freed all of us niggers.”

  Faces unfold and then the lips smile unbelievingly. The old woman waves a hand at him. “You must got fever, boy,” she mutters.

  “No ma’am; feeling weak, but not feverish.”

  Fire burning in the hearth, crackling, sending off flaming bits of ash that curl and fade on the floor.

  “Foolish, then,” the big man whispers, but leans in closer. “You crazy, right?” he says, but Willie can hear in his voice that he hopes he’s not.

  “Nah, sir,” Willie says, shaking his head. “I got all my senses.” He uses his index finger to press against his temple.

  The big man glances at the old woman. There’s shuffling of feet, muttering, and soft sighs.

  “You sure?”

  “Ay-yuh,” Willie says, astonished at their ignorance. “You didn’t know?”

  “How long?” the big man barks at him.

  Willie flinches. “Since June.”

  An hour passes, maybe two, and the grilling continues. Willie’s throat goes dry as he recounts his story, but the old woman refuses to give him more water, or can’t; she seems frozen by his words.

  The big man removes his hat and fans his face with the brim. “My Lord,” he utters, and looks down at his feet.

  When the old woman finally gives him another cup of water, her hand trembles as she passes it off to him and most of it ends up on Willie’s chest.

  Then she turns questioning eyes to the big man, who seems to be void of answers.

  The silence is long and stiff. They all remain in their places, pondering something that they can’t just yet share with Willie. He remains silent, empty tin cup in hand, eyes floating over everything and everyone.

  A grunt from the man Willie would learn was called Brother ends it all, and time suddenly starts up again. “Take ’im out to the barn,” he says, and the old woman called Laney shows him the way.

  It had none of the comforts of the saltbox, but there was a cot, and while the cold made itself known, the extra socks and coat kept it bearable. The horse and its mare didn’t seem to mind, and Willie would make sure to let them both know that nothing like what happened to the goat would happen to them.

  * * *

  The big house that sat on the hill seemed empty. Slaves and no slave owners? Niggers living on all of this land and no white folk to be seen? Willie shook his head. Maybe things in Georgia went different from Kentucky.

  Willie’s eyes were growing heavy, but his stomach turned over. The plate of food they’d given him had burned away as quickly as it had dropped down inside of him, and now he felt ravenous.

  He crept outside of the barn and stood in the center of the enclosed pen and stared up at the moon. Moving left, his eyes fell on the big house again and caught hold of a flicker of light traveling between the windows before blooming and then disappearing.

  “Haints,” he muttered before helping himself to what was left in the mare’s trough.

  ___________________

  “He telling a tale, been running too long, mind all mixed up and confused,” Laney says.

  Brother nods his head. “Could be, could be not,” he says thoughtfully.

  “You believe him?” Laney says in shock.

  “He ain’t got no reason to lie to us.”

  “Crazy is reason enough,” Laney says, slapping her palm down on the table and then turning her head toward the window that looks out on the barn.

  “Maybe.” Brother’s words are soft. “But that might ’splain why we ain’t seen hide nor hair of a white man in months.”

  “What you think, they all dead?” Laney’s tone is mocking.

  “Not all but maybe most.”

  “You just as crazy as he is!” Laney shouts, and folds her arms across her breasts. “White men everywhere, take the hand of God to wipe the earth clean of ’em.”

  Brother turns somber eyes on Laney. “Maybe that’s just what has happened.”

  Laney shakes her head in amazement. “That ain’t what has happened; the boy done told you he seen ’em everywhere from Kentucky to Georgia.”

  Brother smirks.

  “Sooner or later, one gonna show up right here,” Laney says, and taps the wooden table for emphasis.

  * * *

  Willie makes five.

  New moons come and go before Willie gets the whole story and the viewing.

  Days stretch, and warm and wild crocuses lay a purple blanket across the land. Birds are singing and the sun is smiling down on them, warming even Laney’s chilly disposition toward him.

  Willie helps with the chores, does whatever he’s told to do, says little and asks even less, but he’s sure to keep his eyes peeled for a white man coming by to
collect, show up and stare, ride up and point out what gotta be done next. But none ever come and the chores go on day in and day out like someone’s watching. Maybe, Willie thinks, they doing it for God.

  * * *

  “So Laney your mama?” he chances and asks one day. He’s been wondering all along, wanting to know who’s kin and who’s not.

  “Godsend mother,” Brother says and looks real hard at a knothole in the wood. “My real mama died some time back.”

  “Indian?” Willie ventures, having seen the curl and straight of the man’s head whenever he thinks to remove his hat.

  “Yeah.”

  “And the girl?” Willie hopes he doesn’t sound too eager.

  “My sister.”

  “Godsend?”

  “Nah, blood.”

  Nothing for some time, then Brother giving him a wry smile and asking, “Ain’t you gonna ask about Spin?”

  * * *

  And what of the big house on the hill?

  He wanted to ask. He found himself staring at it for long periods of time. It was hard to ignore, but the rest of them managed to do it. As far as he could tell, their eyes hardly wandered up that hill and to the mansion that stood there.

  He’d never been warned to stay away from the house, but the manner in which they pretended it wasn’t there made Willie feel that he should act accordingly.

  ___________________

  By June they had torn down and rebuilt the pigpen more times than Willie could count. Well, he’d stopped counting when he ran out of fingers and toes. That frustrated him—that and the sun beating down on his neck.

  Winter had kept him humble, spring made him grateful, but this early summer heat just made him feel mad for some reason, so when Brother told Willie to pull down the east side of the pen again, Willie had to loose his tongue and ask, “What for?”

  Brother didn’t say a word, just used his hammer to point to the east side as he strolled past Willie and out toward the field.

  Willie watched him for a while and then he thought about the hot meals and not-too-cold barn. He thought about Suce’s soft eyes. He could do a lot worse than building, tearing down, and rebuilding a pigpen.

  He moved to the east section and began extracting the nails.

  * * *

  “I think we can trust him.” Brother spoke slow.

  “Why?”

  “’Cause he been here all this time and ain’t asked but one or two questions.”

  “So?”

  “So? You think he don’t know something is wrong here?”

  “And?”

  “Look, Laney, he here, he helping out, he got a right to know.”

  “He want Suce. Did you know that?”

  Silence.

  Spin fumbled with his fingers, but kept his face calm.

  “I see the way they look at each other,” she pressed.

  Brother’s face was serene, his voice low. “Can’t expect nothing less. She at that age and he far beyond it and alone, what you ’spect them to look at, the trees and the dirt?”

  “Humph.”

  “Suce gonna need a husband. You want her to walk off down the road in search of one and not come back, like Tenk?”

  “We don’t know that’s what happened! Tenk had a wife right here. I was his wife and I was right here, always right here!”

  “Ain’t nothing against you, Laney. I’m just saying, what you ’spect?”

  Laney rubbed at her chin. “You talkin’ foolish talk anyhow; Suce just a child.”

  “Won’t be a child forever.”

  “By then someone else closer to her age might come along.”

  “Or might not.”

  * * *

  They told him.

  Well, Brother did most of the talking, while Suce kept quiet and Laney paced, and Spin just stared out the window into the night.

  “Sure ’nuff?” Willie was astonished; he had been called a dumb nigger so many times that he thought it was true of him and the rest of his race. He slapped his thigh and laughed. “Well I’ll be,” he said, shaking his head in amazement.

  Brother folded his hands across his chest and waited, while Laney just made a face.

  It all made sense now. And he kind of smiled at Suce. It wasn’t no haint, just Suce, he thought to himself. “Well I’ll be,” he said again.

  “So now you know.”

  “Yes, yes I do,” Willie said, still unable to wipe the look of amusement off his face.

  “C’mon,” Brother said, and jumped up from his chair. The move was so sudden, Willie’s body jerked and he had to fight the urge to bring his hands up to his face in defense.

  Brother threw him a baffled look, snatched his hat off the nail on the wall, and started through the door.

  Willie hustled behind him, not daring to ask where it was they were going in the darkness. He realized he didn’t need to when Brother turned left and started up the path that led to the big house on the hill.

  It was a climb, and the farther they went, the darker it seemed to get. Willie felt his chest constrict and suddenly found himself gasping for air. Fear?

  “Keep up,” Brother muttered, and his stride quickened.

  Willie sucked air and walked faster.

  When they got to the door, Brother looked around cautiously before grabbing hold of the knob and pushing it open.

  Willie hesitated. The main hall was dark.

  “Well?” Brother said, and Willie looked up to see Brother’s yellow-tinged eyes glaring down at him.

  Willie stepped in.

  There was a smell. Something he couldn’t name. Willie sniffed at the air and then covered his nose with the palm of his hand and moved closer to Brother.

  They climb the stairs, Brother surefooted and swift, Willie stumbling. Once at the top, they turn left and start down the narrow hallway. The light is better there; the moon is framed in the small window at the end of the hall. Willie’s heart slows a bit, and he’s able to straighten his back some.

  They move toward the only doorway, located at the end of the hall. When Brother pushes it open, the hinges scream and that horrid feeling Willie was just able to shake off leaps back on him again.

  “Who’s there?” a small voice asks through the darkness.

  Willie remains in the hallway while Brother steps inside and disappears into the gloomy darkness of the bedroom. There’s some fumbling and the distinctive sound of a match being struck.

  An orange-blue flame momentarily illuminates the darkness before it catches hold of the wick of the oil lamp.

  Brother holds the lamp low over what—or who—it is he’s brought Willie to see.

  In the dim yellow glow, Willie’s gaze slowly slides down the mahogany headboard, falling first on gray hair, then blue eyes lodged in a face that is as white as the bedsheets.

  The mouth is the worst—thin lips, turned in, but still managing a ludicrous grin that barely contains the toothless pink gums.

  “Who you?” the horrible mouth asks as the blue eyes roll frantically in their sockets.

  Willie’s tongue fumbles for his name, but is rescued from the task when Brother quickly extinguishes the flame and throws them all back into darkness.

  * * *

  Back down at the house, right in front of the door, Brother turned to Willie and asked, “You in or out?”

  Willie looked up into Brother’s eyes. “Well” was the first word that came to mind, because this here was a dangerous game they were playing. White folks were hopping mad at what Lincoln had done, and as much as things had changed, Willie felt sure that the old ways remained the same. He himself had seen smoking bodies swinging from tree limbs. And he was sure it was for some meager offense or maybe just the offense of having been born black. He didn’t know.

  If he had never been sure of any one thing in his life, looking into Brother’s eyes made him sure of the fact that if his answer wasn’t the right one, he would be dead before daybreak.

  “In.”


  * * *

  Now that he knew, he didn’t know how to sleep at night.

  “How you do it?” he asked.

  “Do what?” Brother said as he examined the dull edge of his knife.

  “Sleep. How you sleep at night?”

  Brother looked at him with bewilderment. “What?”

  “I can’t sleep now.” Willie’s voice shook a bit and there was a small film of perspiration above his lip.

  Brother stared hard at him and he saw that Willie’s eyes were bloodshot. “You forgot how to do it?” Brother laughed and shook his head.

  Willie let out a frustrated sigh. “You ain’t worried you’ll be found out?”

  It was Brother’s turn to sigh. “Think about it every day, but I ain’t got it in me to worry,” he said.

  “What?” Willie questioned eagerly. “What’s that?”

  Brother turned the knife over in his hands. “What can they do to me that ain’t already done?”

  “They can kill you,” Willie snapped back at him.

  “Shoot.” Brother laughed, turned away from Willie, and aimed the knife at the bark of the ash tree. He narrowed his eyes, pulled his arm back, and then brought it forward with a quick jerk, sending the knife sailing through the air. “I was born dead,” he said as the point of the knife stuck in the bark of the tree with a thump.

  Willie gave him a blank look.

  “What, you sayin’ you call slavery living?” Brother said, and started toward the tree to retrieve his knife. “Well lookee there,” Brother chuckled as he pulled the knife from the tree. “Wasn’t as dull as I thought it was.”

  * * *

  Months pass and Suce becomes comfortable in her twelfth year and her place at the supper table, right next to Willie.

  Brother sees that her eyes are moist with womanhood, even though Laney remains tight-lipped about the blood that had stained Suce’s bloomers a month earlier.

  Willie seems barely able to contain himself. Brother has spotted Willie rubbing himself up against the hard bark of the spruce, sometimes hears his shuddering cry from his place in the barn, and Brother was relieved to slaughter the cow, especially after he caught Willie eyeing it a little too closely.