Antebellum

  When the thorny stick hit me again, it connected with my lower back. My body jerked in pain, and I felt my grip around the tree release. I fell and landed on my back, hitting my head against something that made my skull feel like Play-Doh. My vision almost went blurry again, but five sets of fangs found a home in my flesh and brought it back to clarity.

  “Ahhh! Get these...get these dogs off me, man!”

  One of the beasts had torn away the chunk of flesh it was biting, and had come back for more. I couldn’t tell how much I was bleeding, but the leg of my jeans began to feel moist. I tried to ignore the five white men that stood over me, watching as I tried to scamper away. When it seemed as if I might have gotten my feet under me, I felt the sharp stick come back across my legs again. I fell down once more, and as I hit the ground, one of the white men called the dogs back to him. When I turned around, I saw the muzzle of an old gun pointed at my mouth.

  “What the hell is wrong with you people, man? What y’all want?”

  Each of the men looked around at each other, and then at Bradley.

  “You was right,” the man who held the gun told Bradley. “This ain’t no regular nigger. Ah well...”

  The gunslinger raised his hand a few inches up to my forehead, and pulled the trigger.

  Barely able to register what was happening, I saw the flash come from the front of the gun as I lay there on the ground. I squeezed my eyelids shut and waited for my life to go by in a flash.

  After five seconds, I figured either my death had been painless or something had gone wrong. I opened my eyes and saw Bradley with his hand on the shooter’s wrist. He had pushed the shooter’s hand up so that the bullet had gone up in the air instead of into my brain. The man looked at Bradley with both confusion and anger painting his face.

  “What’re you doing, Bradley?”

  Bradley let the shooter’s wrist go and stood in front of him.

  “This nigger ain’t from ’round here, Finch. He somethin’ differen’. He talk differen’, he walk differen’. Missus Talbert, she flap her mouth from here straight’a the ocean if you let her. Boss told her ’bout dis here nigger, and you know half the town gotta know bout ’im by now. Now, Finch, what if I take this here nigger, and break ’em so bad that he weep when he sees himself a white man? What you reckon that’ll do for ol’ Bradley’s reputation?”

  “Mista Talbert say to kill ’im,” Finch replied.

  “I know that, but jus’ hear me a second. Lemme talk to the boss before we kill ’im. If he still want the nigger dead, we’ll leave him side of the road. But if he says I can have ’im, I’ll letcha help me teach ’im some manners. We both be the most famous nigger breakers for miles! Whatcha say?”

  I could tell Finch was thinking hard about his decision. I had no idea what they were talking about, but I tried my best to jump up and run away. The furthest I got was my hands and knees, and my reward for that was a quick kick in my head. I passed out, thinking that I must have suffered some type of brain damage by now.

  When I came to, I was being dragged up the road that I had run down during my attempted escape. Two of the men that had chased me were holding me under either arm. The rest of my body was limp. I was too weak to pick up my head, but I let my eyes flutter open. I was leaving a steady trail of blood behind me, and my Nikes dragged the ground and left a parallel path on either side of the thin red line. As we moved, I heard snatches of conversation.

  “I don’t like it, Bradley.”

  “And I knows it, Mr. Talbert. I knows you feelin’ uncomfortable ’bout this nigger here. But sir, you give me one month with ’im, and I swear I’ll have ’im lined up perfect! He’ll be da best slave you ever laid eyes on when I’m done with ’im!”

  “And if he’s not, Bradley? What happens if you can’t break him, and he rouses up all my other niggers? Do you know how much money a field full of slaves is worth, Bradley? Do you have enough money to purchase replacements for runaway slaves? No, you don’t. I know this because I pay you.”

  “I knows it, sir, and you absolutely right, but I can—”

  “Shut up, Bradley. I don’t care about what you can and cannot do. I don’t appreciate you convincing Finch to disobey my orders, and I don’t appreciate you trying to use this situation for your personal gain. Do as I say, and shoot this nigger in the head.”

  “What if you cut my pay, sir?”

  “What?”

  “Cut my pay, sir. You can cut my pay, and in return, I can keep the nigger. You needin’ another cotton gin, Mr. Talbert. You can take the extra monies and get equipment, get yourself a strong buck, you can do whatevers you want, sir. Jus’ lemme have the nigger, sir, please...”

  Mr. Talbert stopped short for a moment.

  “Why do you want him so bad, Bradley?”

  Bradley’s voice became quiet, almost somber.

  “Half the town already know ’bout this nigger we found, sir. People sayin’ everything—from him bein’ from ’cross the ocean to him bein’ from out in space somewheres. If I break ’im, and break ’im good, I’ll be famous, sir. Be known for miles out. Get me a big ’ol mansion and lots a land jus’ like you, Mr. Talbert. Feel like a real white man, ’stead of havin’ to be ’round these niggers all the time. God help me, sir...getting so’s that I cain’t stand the sight of ’em no more.”

  Mr. Talbert was quiet for another moment.

  “Well, I guess you can’t knock a man for having ambition. And you’re right about the niggers—any halfway civilized man can only tolerate them in small doses. That’s why we hire people like you, Bradley. But again...you can’t knock a man for having ambition...”

  “And I knows you can use the money, sir.”

  “You are correct, Bradley. I could use the money.”

  Bradley leaned in close and whispered, so that only Mr. Talbert could hear him. “Maggie ain’t fresh no more, sir. Maybe you’se take your pick from the next ship come in...”

  Mr. Talbert whispered back with acid in his voice.

  “I do not wish for my indiscretions to be thrown back in my face, you irreputable heathen! I should have you thrown in jail for that!”

  “I’m sorry, sir...I’m sorry...please forgive me...”

  “You’d better be!” Mr. Talbert glanced hatefully at Bradley, then softened his look and his voice. “But as much as I hate to admit it, Maggie is worn out. She’s had more children than I can count. It would be nice to have a fresh wench around here.”

  Bradley bit his thumbnails in anticipation.

  “Alright, Bradley. I will take your next payment in full. I trust you have enough saved up to be able to cover it?”

  “Yes, sir, I do.”

  “You may have the nigger, but I want daily reports on him. The moment something goes wrong, I’ll hang him myself. And I’ll be coming by your quarters regularly to check on your progress. Do you understand?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “I still have a bad feeling about this, Bradley. I really do. Unfortunately, there are certain sins that I continue to struggle with. We all have a little nigger in us, Bradley. That’s why we ask God for forgiveness. Do you understand?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Good.”

  I was dropped on the ground, and kicked in my side for good measure. My head jerked up in response to the pain, and I saw that I was back on the same plantation that I had run away from. All the slaves filed out from the warehouse to see what was happening.

  Mr. Talbert turned back to Bradley.

  “You break him, and you break him good. If he ruins my slaves, I’ll have you hung.”

  Shock echoed across Bradley’s face, but he tried to keep his composure. “Sir?”

  “You will never have enough money to restock my slaves, Bradley. If you fail with this nigger, then that is on you and you alone. But if your failure ruins my investments, you don’t have the capital to back it, and I won’t want you around here to try and repay your debt. I will simply have you hung, and m
ove on. You understand that, don’t you, Bradley?”

  Bradley’s voice lowered. “Yes, sir.”

  “Good. I’m going in the house. Dudley!”

  One of the white men who had captured me ran up to meet Mr. Talbert. “Yes, sir.”

  “Run down to the docks and see when the next shipment comes in, won’t you?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  All the men dispersed except Bradley and Finch, who waited until Mr. Talbert went back inside of his house before taking the thickest rope I had ever seen and tying it around my wrists. I fought as best I could, but my energy was gone and my muscles just wouldn’t work. All I could do was mumble.

  “Wait...till I...get back...to D.C. Forget...suing...I’ma have... y’all...murcked...in da...street...”

  Bradley and Finch laughed as they grabbed the other end of the rope and tugged until it was upright. I felt my arms being pulled above my head, and pretty soon my body was supported only by my wrists. My feet dangled and my torso was stretched like rubber. Gravity pulled on my legs like a barbell, and each second became more and more painful. I tried to scream, but all that came out were short yelps. I figured after a while, my body would rip apart.

  I could only lift my head enough to have it fall right back down again. I could still see the slaves staring at me, and suddenly Roka broke out from the crowd and screamed out.

  “DON’T LET THEM TAKE DIFFERENT! DON’T LET THEM TAKE DIFFERENT!”

  “You shut up, you black bastard!” Bradley pointed at Roka as he yelled. “I had enough of you! Talbert say next time you act up I can gut ya myself. Say another word, goddammit. I’ll feed your heart to the pigs.”

  I turned my head toward Roka. He stood with his fist clenched, his teeth grinding together, but he kept his mouth closed.

  “You!” Bradley stared at Roka, but walked over to the crowd of slaves that stood at the warehouse door. “Y’all take a good look at this here nigger.”

  He pointed up at me. I tried to kick him, but it was torture to try and use any of my muscles. I gathered as much saliva as I could, which wasn’t much, and spit it out. Three tiny drops hit the ground in front of me. The spit wouldn’t reach him, but the familiar hocking sound made the slaves gasp. Bradley turned and stared at me in disbelief.

  “Go...call...my lawyer...”

  Bradley began chuckling uneasily, but eventually fell into a rolling laughter. Finch looked confused, but took his cue from his partner and made himself laugh as well. When Bradley was done, he looked back at the slaves.

  “Let this nigger be a lesson for all a’ you! I control niggers on this here plantation. You cain’t take a squat in a hole without my permission.”

  He paused to let his message sink in.

  “Talbert been protectin’ you niggers till now. That black piece a’ trash right here—” Bradley pointed again at Roka “—you shoulda been dead, but you pick mo’ cotton than any two niggers out here combined. You thinkin’ ol Bradley can’t get to you ’cause Talbert say so, huh? But watch...you’se watch what happen after I crush this here nigger. Watch how much respect I get...hell, I buy all of you myself!” Again, Bradley pointed at Roka. “First thing I’ma do is cut off your balls and eat ’em for supper.”

  Bradley broke into a wild, fanatical sort of laughter as he walked over and picked up a whip that had been rolled into a coil. He grabbed the handle and flung the coil so that the whip stretched out to its full length, and grinned menacingly as he prepared to cock his arm back. His laughter didn’t move me. I’d already felt as if I was about to die. There was nothing more fearful than what I had already experienced.

  Finch reached up and ripped off my shirt. More gasps came from the slaves. I was too weary to wonder what the big deal was.

  “Bradley...” Finch kept looking back and forth from me to his partner. “Bradley...looka here...this nigger’s back...he ain’t...he ain’t never been whipped.”

  Bradley dropped the whip, then walked over and clawed at the flesh on my back. I screamed inside my head. My throat wasn’t strong enough to make it audible.

  “Where the hell did you come from?” Bradley stared up at me, letting his uneasiness show for a second before he placed his mask back on. He walked back over to the whip he had dropped, and picked it up with a large grin. Squatting down slightly on his knees, he turned back toward me and stopped.

  “Don’t matter where you came from, you mine now, boy...”

  He lifted the whip and cracked it toward me.

  Hanging there by my wrists, I was certain that I was in more pain than I could ever express. My body hung limp and swayed with the nudging of the wind, and gravity continued to make an attempt at separating my torso from my legs. My head was pounding, as it had been for several hours now, and my exhaustion prevented me from doing much else other than moaning and swallowing spit. I figured there wasn’t anything that could be done to me that was more painful than what I’d already felt.

  I was wrong.

  Fire from hell ripped the skin from my back. My eyes went from fluttering to shooting open wider than I’d ever known they could go. My bone-dry tonsils pulsed and released a sound of pure agony.

  “UhhhhggghhhhaaaAAAHHH...”

  Bradley laughed out loud.

  “Finch, I do believe you was right. This boy ain’t never felt a whip before! Jesus must be smilin down on me today—give me this good luck.”

  “Must be,” Finch said, and grinned.

  I heard the long cord be pulled back and snatched forward, and felt the fire rip more flesh from my back. Cries came up and out from my gut, and had I heard a recording of these sounds, I wouldn’t have believed they’d come from me. Every time the whip touched me, it took a piece of life with it. I began to suffocate on my own screams.

  “DON’T LET THEM TAKE DIFFERENT!” I could barely make out Roka’s voice, even though he yelled loudly.

  “Goddammit...” Bradley reached into his pants with his free hand, pulled out his revolver and fired a shot at Roka. It missed Roka and hit an older woman beside him. She staggered backward two or three steps, and then fell down dead.

  Three women with cloths wrapped around their heads ran up to the corpse.

  “Awww, nooo...NOOOO...”

  “Elizabeth...speak t’me, honey...please...”

  “Please, Lord, no, please...”

  A collective choir of sorrow began. Roka dropped to his knees and picked up the woman’s body, and the multitude of slaves carried her back into the warehouse.

  “Mr. Talbert ain’t gonna be happy about that, Bradley...”

  “Just another dead nigger,” Bradley said, and pulled the whip back again.

  And suddenly it hit me, just as my eyes began to roll to the back of my head. This was no movie. These people weren’t actors. No one was going to pop out of the bushes and shout that I had been punked. These weren’t kidnappers or people wanting ransom, and this was not an elaborate movie set. This was real. These people were real, the whip was real, and the torture was real. There was nothing fake about any of it.

  My body, in an act of genuine mercy, allowed me to pass out.

  9

  I stared at the face in the mirror with confusion, and then grinned as the sound of the crowd echoed outside the door. The face in the mirror grinned back at me as if its ridiculously large smile was all there was to life.

  I felt as if I’d just arrived where I was, although I knew I’d been here for hours. The soundchecks, the makeup, the wardrobe choice, it all felt like it happened in a cloud of time that blew away without ever being noticed. I stood up and looked at myself in the mirror once again. Custom Nikes, skinny jeans, Armani T-shirt and a Burberry jacket draped from my frame. A fresh shape-up outlined my face, and the waves above my hairline were flawless. I was ready to take on the world.

  The crowd kept chanting “Nigga....Nigga......Nigga.....!”

  I was starting to get hyped up from the crowd. I began bouncing up and down on my toes, throwing punches
at my friend in the mirror.

  “Hey, Henry, we gonna kill ’em tonight, dogg!”

  No one answered. I look around the room, and it was empty. Not one breathing soul between the four walls but me.

  I don’t remember seeing anyone leave, though, I thought to myself.

  After figuring out that everyone would probably burst through the door in any minute to try and get me onstage, I considered sitting down and relaxing for a few minutes. Most of my concerts went for two hours, and even though Henry, Brian, Ray, and Orlando could fill in for me if I got tired, the people paid to see me. I had to give them what they paid for. Most nights I needed a Red Bull and an E pill to enjoy the afterparty.

  I sat back down in the plush leather seat and stared again at the grinning face in the mirror. The more I stared at his grin, the more I hated it. He wasn’t grinning because he was happy. He was grinning because there was something hurting him, like a paper cut or a broken fingernail. Whatever it was, grinning was the only way he could fight it. If you stared at him long enough, as I had, you could see that the smiling was hurting him more than the affliction.

  I reached out my hand to try and move the mirror so that I wouldn’t have to look at the face anymore. The person in the glass reached back toward me, as if I held the key to his tears. I jumped back out of the seat.

  “Jesus...Is that me?”

  “Yes, it is.”

  I heard the voice, but fear kept me from turning around immediately.