My Name's Not Friday

by Jon Walter

  ‘It was never meant to be you,’ he says quickly, and the fondness in his voice makes me want to spit in his eye.

  I feel a sudden need to move. I’m all tight in my legs and stomach and I can’t sit still on this chair – it’s making me feel like a schoolboy all over again.

  I get to my feet and walk out in front of him, same as Daniel did with the lion, the same as Moses. I’m less afraid of him now. ‘It was you who shat upon the table of the Lord. I know it was. You did it so you could pretend it was Joshua and sell him into slavery.’

  I expect him to deny it but he says, ‘I did what I had to.’

  I cannot believe my ears. I wait for an apology or some sort of explanation but get neither. ‘How did you do it?’ I demand.

  ‘What?’

  ‘The turd on the altar. Tell me how you did it. Did you climb up there and squat? Is that how you did it?’

  He waves it away with a tired hand. ‘Oh, it doesn’t matter.’

  ‘It does! It matters to me! I got a picture in my head of how it happened and it was you who put it there, so I got a right to know.’

  Father Mosely sits down heavily on the same chair I used, but he won’t meet my eye, staring instead at the bottom corner of the tent. ‘I carried it in a box from the latrine.’

  ‘You carried it in a box from the latrine?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘And is that the way God works?’ I fold my arms like I can wait a whole lifetime for his answer. ‘Is it? Do you think He was proud of you, looking down from heaven and seeing one of His own priests behaving like that? Do you think that’s how He expects His priests to behave?’

  Father Mosely suddenly looks defiant and for a moment I lose my nerve. He ain’t the kind of man to be humble for long, I know that, but I ain’t finished with him yet. ‘How do you think God feels about a man who calls himself an abolitionist and then sells boys into slavery to line his own pocket? You’re no better than a thief.’

  ‘But you haven’t understood, Samuel.’ Mosely gets to his feet quickly, shaking his head. ‘I never took a penny for myself. Never. I picked one boy at a time, but only when I needed to, and I always picked the worst of you, the one who was the slowest to read or the one who showed no desire to learn their math. They had to pay the price for the costs of running that school so that boys like you could go on to become the brightest and the very best of men. That’s the only way I could afford to run the orphanage, Samuel. But only good came from it. Do you understand?’

  I think of how I behaved with Gerald – all the lying and cheating to do God’s work.

  Mosely leans over me. ‘Do you know how rare it is for a coloured man to read?’

  ‘I been finding out.’

  ‘Out of all my boys, Samuel, you were the brightest and the best. You have what it takes to be a leader of men.’

  ‘Just like Moses?’

  ‘Exactly! A black man coming down the mountain bearing tablets of stone. That’s what it takes, Samuel. You have to do extraordinary things before they’ll question their beliefs.’

  ‘I tried it.’ I swallow hard, trying to be rid of the bitter taste in my mouth. ‘It doesn’t work.’

  Father Mosely falters, his eyes moving from one side of my face to the other. ‘You were always so full of hope, Samuel. I don’t know what you must have been through.’

  ‘I don’t believe you’re sorry.’

  He hesitates. Goes and sits back down. ‘I won’t apologize to you, Samuel.’ He taps the seat of his chair with a fingernail. ‘If this is the seat of judgement, I’ll sit on it with confidence. What I did was for the greater good. The money Gloucester gave me for you kept us open for another six months. Perhaps I might have managed eight, if we had no logs for the fires and only ate the vegetables we grew out the back.’

  There’s that name again – Gloucester. He was only here yesterday. That’s what he said. Was he here in this tent?

  Mosely raises an eyebrow. ‘What was I to do? If the orphanage had closed, you’d have probably all ended up in slavery or else dying in a ditch from starvation. The time I bought us by selling you gave the other fifteen boys a chance to make something of themselves. Your sacrifice gave them a future, Samuel.’

  I’ve hardly heard a word he says, but then he stands and puts a hand on my shoulder, bringing me back to him. ‘God will only help us if we help ourselves. I think I taught you that.’

  I shake his hand away, glancing around the marquee, searching for some clue of where the boys might be. ‘Where’s Joshua?’ I turn back to Mosely as his mouth drops open. ‘What have you done with my brother?’

  I fumble the gun from the belt of my trousers and he’s afraid of me as I come for him, putting out a shaking hand to ward me off or perhaps to plead forgiveness. ‘Gloucester came yesterday to collect an outstanding debt. What was I to do? I still have some boys in my care. I had to think about what would happen to them, same as I always do.’

  If that trigger was less tight, I swear, I might have killed him right there, cos I point the gun at his head with a shaking hand.

  ‘Where is he? Where’s my brother?’

  Mosely tells me everything he knows – where Gloucester is going and how he’s travelling – and he better pray I find Joshua or I’ll be back to hold him to account. I tell him that I will.

  Chapter 24

  I arrive at the back of the saloon bar with a plan to steal a horse. I don’t know how that’s done, but I can’t catch up with Gloucester any other way. A line of ’em stands out front and I look around to see who might be watching. There’s no one about. I’m telling myself I got to be more like Joshua. I got to think like him, I got to act like I couldn’t care less. Anyway, I can always bring it back when I’m done, so it’s not really stealing.

  I choose a black horse that looks strong and fast then saunter across to stand beside him. There’s still no one watching so I rest a hand on his neck to keep him quiet as I untie him. Any moment I’m expecting a hand on my shoulder or a loud voice shouting, ‘Hey! What d’you think you’re doing?’ but it never comes and I kick at his flank and ride away into the night.

  Father Mosely had told me Gloucester was headed down South to a town called Darwin. From there he would take Joshua on to Alabama by train. The town was about a two-day walk from the camp, and I hope he’ll be using a mule, the same as he had with me. If I am quick and get lucky, I might still catch him.

  Well, I ride that horse flat out and we go through the night without pausing to take breath or water. I’m thankful to have stolen myself a fast horse and to be riding under the cover of darkness. I even have a sliver of moon that lights my way across the flat earth.

  I ain’t exactly sure when I pass into Confederate territory, but I keep a look out for firelight, assuming there’ll be patrols searching for runaways or deserters. I know if they catch me they won’t ask questions, but I see only one such fire, a glimmer of flame in the lee of a hill, and I ride around it at a distance where I can’t be seen or heard.

  I reach Darwin just before dawn and there ain’t a part of my body that don’t ache. I come to a stop about half a mile short of the town, where the train tracks cross my path. Even in the dim light, I can see the station building on the edge of town. A line of roofs show the main street right behind it. My brother might already be there, locked up in a house or a shed. But I’ve no way of knowing where.

  He might be waiting to board the train with Gloucester. If he does, he’ll be lost to me for ever. But do I dare to ride into town, bold as brass, and knock on all the doors till I find him? I won’t last more than a minute if I do, cos there’s nothing more suspicious than a black boy on a decent horse. They’ll probably sell me straight back into slavery or, worse still, lynch the two of us from a high beam as a lesson to their own slaves who might be thinking about running away to join the Yankees.

  I have to think about that. I need to slow down and work it out.

  I ride the horse back the way we came til
l we reach a brook and I let him drink while I work things through. His dark skin glistens with sweat as I pat him down. I got to do something, but I don’t know what. The longer I think about it, the less clear it becomes. What should I do? I begin to panic. What should I do? I can’t even think straight and my mouth goes dry and my heart beats faster than it should. I find myself looking around, hoping to find someone who can help me – anyone at all – but there’s nobody here, there’s nothing but scrubland and the faraway town, shimmering in the low light.

  I try to be rational about it, but that don’t help. I just can’t see how I’m going to get him back if he’s already in town. The only thing I can do is to make sure I’m at the station when the train arrives and hope to snatch him when I see him. But in my heart of hearts I don’t think it’s got a chance in hell of working. I know it won’t. I’ll be lucky if I even get to see him.

  And it’s all my fault. If I hadn’t cursed God, if I hadn’t turned my back on Him, perhaps Joshua would still be safe. And how come it was only yesterday that Gloucester came to take him? God had kept Him safe until then. I remember trampling on the altar at the camp. Was that when God decided he’d had enough of me and my brother? He’s punishing me – I know He is – cos I am unworthy of His goodness, and I have shown Him little faith.

  Blessed are those that have not seen Him and yet still believe.

  Blessed are the children in the arms of their Father.

  I fall to my knees, right there in front of the horse. ‘Oh Lord Jesus, forgive me for I have been weak and selfish. I have thought only of myself and nothing of You. But please don’t punish Joshua. Give him back to me, Lord. Show me how I can find him. Because I need him. Do you see that, Lord? I need him and he needs me.’

  I finish my prayer and stay on my knees, waiting. Above my head the horse snorts loudly, but God don’t say a word to me and I sit upon the wretched earth, surrounded by the silence. I look to the left and right of me, hoping there might be an answer in the rocks and sand, but there ain’t a rock on Earth that ever told anyone anything. A beetle scuttles across the dirt towards my knee. Is that a sign? I don’t see how it could be.

  I scoop a handful of water to my face and wash the dust from the socket of my eye, taking care of where I touch. The Lord has not forgiven me. I would know it if He had. I would feel it. But I don’t feel anything ’cept a fear of Joshua all alone with that man.

  I stand up and mount my horse. Ahead of me, the sun rises above the ridge. It’ll be warm soon. There are foothills in the distance and a scattering of small trees that might offer me some cover. I’ll wait there in the hope that Gloucester has made camp somewhere back along the road and I might meet him as he comes into town to take the train. It’s not much, but it’s the only plan I got.

  So I go back the way I came, stopping my horse at the first trees I reach and I tie his tether to a wizened branch. Yes. This will do. I can still see the town from here, and if the train arrives I’ll have time to ride back and maybe get on board before it leaves.

  I sit down on the ground to wait. The morning air is fresh and clear but there ain’t much to see or do ’cept to worry. I start to feel hungry. I’ve got nothing to eat and I can’t see how I’m going to find anything either. Not in this wilderness. In the sky above me there are ravens and a buzzard. They’re gliding in wide circles, floating on currents of air I can’t see and I don’t know how they do that without so much as a flap of their wings. They’re waiting for their breakfast to appear. See! There he goes now, that big ol’ buzzard, circling over one spot. He must’ve seen something.

  And that’s when I spy the thin line of smoke that rises up into the air from somewhere below him. A fire! There must be someone with a campfire! Over there, in another stand of trees, about a mile further back along the road.

  I rush back to the horse, untether him and mount up. It may not be Joshua, but someone’s there, I know that much, and I approach slowly, trying to keep a line that will shelter me from view. Once I’m closer, I dismount and take the pistol from my waistband. Did Gloucester carry a gun? I hadn’t seen one when he took me, but I wouldn’t bet against it.

  I make for the left of the smoke, running quiet as a rabbit, until I look down on their camp from the top of a bank that sits fifteen feet above it. The scene is exactly as it had been for me. The mule stands on the far side of the camp and Gloucester is by the fire, crouching over the silver pot, dropping tea leaves into the open lid as he chews his stick of liquorice.

  I look for Joshua. There’s a boy with a sack over his head, sitting at the foot of a small tree to my left and I’m sure it’s Joshua – I know it is. Seeing him all strung up like a chicken nearly breaks the heart of me. But I’ve found him! I’ve found him!

  Gloucester stands up and stretches. He walks over to Joshua and crouches down real close. ‘So, boy, you got any idea what day of the week it is today?’

  Joshua tells him it’s a Wednesday. I recognise his voice.

  ‘That’s right – it’s a Wednesday.’ Gloucester stands up. ‘You better remember that cos …’

  I step out from behind my tree and start to scuff my way down the bank, my boots scraping against old roots and stones as I arrive, my gun already out and trained on Gloucester, as steady as I can keep it.

  ‘Well, what the … ?’ Gloucester sees me coming. He sees my face before he sees the gun. ‘Oh my good Lord, look at you. Now what in the Devil’s name—’

  ‘Put your hands up!’ I tell him. ‘Go on, do it!’

  Gloucester puts his hands in the air. ‘Now hold on there … I am unarmed.’

  ‘Samuel?’ Joshua calls out, and his head moves quickly from left to right in the sack as he tries to locate me. ‘Samuel? Is that really you?’

  I keep my eye on Gloucester as I clamber down the last bit of slope. He smiles uncertainly. ‘Don’t I know you from somewhere? I’m sure I do. Why, yes, you’re one of Father Mosely’s boys. Ain’t that right?’ He becomes less afraid of me and brings one of his hands down from above his head, stepping towards me like we’re long-departed friends and he might shake my hand. He must know I ain’t got the nerve to shoot him. He can see it in my face.

  ‘Don’t come any closer!’ I shake my gun and he hesitates. ‘I’ll shoot! I will! I’ll do it if I have to!’

  ‘Now you don’t want to shoot me. Why don’t we talk about this? I reckon you already found out what they do to niggers who go around shooting at decent folk.’ He takes a step closer, nodding at the gun in my hand. ‘You better put that thing away, boy.’

  I step back and he steps towards me again, the stick of liquorice moving from one side of his mouth to the other.

  Behind his back I see Joshua stretch himself out along the ground and start rolling towards us, his wrists still tied behind his back, the rope appearing and disappearing as he turns full circles in the dirt.

  Gloucester takes another step, moving slowly into the space between us. He sees me swallow hard. ‘You ain’t gonna shoot me, boy’ He puts his hand out for the gun. ‘You ain’t got what it takes.’

  But Joshua’s almost reached us. He’s arriving at the back of Gloucester’s legs. He’s on his way to help me out and he’s my only hope. Suddenly I shoot my mouth off, screaming ‘BANG!’ so loudly that Gloucester steps back, alarmed, and trips over Joshua, who is already there at the back of his heels, kicking out like a blind mule.

  I am instantly upon the man, all kneecaps and fists digging down into his shoulders, but he rises up beneath me, too strong for me to hold. I hit him hard, on the back of his head, dropping the gun as I do it.

  ‘Aaargh!’ Gloucester falls flat on his stomach.

  ‘I’m sorry.’ I step away, horrified, as the man’s bowler hat rolls away on the ground, that ten dollar bill still tucked up inside it’s rim.

  Gloucester puts a hand up to his head as a spot of blood appears and widens across the top of his bald patch. He snarls and rises on one knee. Joshua kicks him again and Glouceste
r turns on my brother, grabbing at the sack on his head. ‘Why you little …’ He slaps him hard. First once and then again, and I stand and watch him do it, knowing I got to act, hearing the Devil in my head, telling me to pick up the gun and shoot him dead.

  There’s a rock at my feet, ’bout the size of my head, and I pick that up instead, lift it up to my chin and run the few steps to Gloucester. He looks up at me as I bring it down on him and the blow sends him crashing into the dirt. The sound it makes, the feel of it, turns my stomach. I stand there shaking, waiting for him to rise, still holding the rock in both hands but praying he won’t make me use it again.

  Gloucester doesn’t move at all. He ain’t dead – least I don’t think so – but he’s dazed and breathing heavy, all the fight in him concussed.

  I drop the rock and kneel beside Joshua, picking at the rope around his wrists with quick fingers. ‘It’s all right, Joshua. Just keep still,’ I tell him. ‘I’ll be quicker if you stay still.’ I work the knot loose till the rope falls to the ground and Joshua’s hands go straight to the cord that holds the sack around his neck. ‘I can’t do it, Samuel,’ he says. ‘It’s too tight.’

  Beside us, Gloucester stirs in the dust and moans.

  ‘Hold on, Joshua.’ I run across and jump on Gloucester’s back again, forcing the air from his lungs and keeping my weight on him till I’ve tied his wrists using the same rope he used on my brother.

  ‘I got it!’ Joshua announces and I turn back as he takes the sack off his head. I still can’t quite believe it’s real, I can’t believe he’s actually right here in front of me.

  I give him the biggest smile.

  Joshua screams and scuttles away from me, looking like an insect exposed to the light, his eyes all wide in his face.

  ‘Samuel?’

  ‘Joshua?’ I creep over to him, my hand outstretched, the same way I’d approach a nervous dog. ‘It’s me. It’s Samuel. It really is.’

  His face crumples in disbelief. ‘What happened to your face?’