Antebellum

by R. Kayeen Thomas

  I focused my gaze on the room for the last time, and spotted Ella staring at me from the other side of the room. Shadows covered her hair and much of her face. All I could make out were her eyes. I’d looked into those eyes for as long as I could remember.

  “That’s SaTia, dogg. I swear to God, that’s her.”

  She disappeared through the other door and back to the big house.

  I didn’t see Ella again for the next four days, but I thought about her so much that she may as well have been sitting beside me.

  I could feel my bones and muscles getting stronger with each passing day. Still, they commanded me to stay in bed. I lay on the straw mattress and pillow, in between long, deep periods of sleep, and tried not to picture Ella’s face. I tried not to imagine her body swaying sexily as she walked across the hard floor, or her sultry voice. My attempts at avoidance were to no avail, though, as her image embedded itself in my thoughts. I was hooked on her.

  On the fourth day, Aunt Sarah made her way over to the side of my bed. She didn’t speak; just sat looking at me long and hard. The truth was that I had longed to hear her voice over the last few days as well, but she’d lived in silence. This was the closest she had been to me since Reverend Lewis’ presence turned the air sour. I sat patiently, hoping she would bless me.

  She sat for over a half-hour, looking me in the eyes. It was during this time that I noticed Roka’s absence. He had been acting as the liaison between us for the past few days, and I could have used him now.

  “Where’s Roka?” I asked, not expecting an answer. The matriarch kept staring at me. At times her gaze seemed to have a sharp edge and I diverted my stare. Most of the time, however, I prodded her to speak with my eyes. When she opened her mouth, I held my breath.

  “Roka done got da lash today,” she said. “Bradley whipped ’im some terrible. He in da other hut, restin’ to break his fever...”

  I felt like someone had thrown me in a football game without a helmet, but at least Aunt Sarah was speaking to me again. I counted my blessings when she opened her mouth once more.

  “I spend most a my days ’ere at dis plantation,” she continued, “Massa Talbert done had ’is way wid me mo’ than I can count. But I neva been cut likes a few days ago when you say those things.”

  She spoke soft and solemn, reminiscent of someone giving remarks at a funeral. I was instantly saddened.

  “Aunt Sarah...I ain’t mean to hurt your feelings. I mean, you saved my life. Why would I want to hurt your feelings?”

  “I knows you ain’t mean to, baby. But you did jus’ same. You did by showin’ how you be in your own world.”

  My brow furrowed like a squirrel’s tail. “What do you mean?”

  Aunt Sarah sighed, showing how painful this conversation was for her.

  “I understands most of what you says, even if it don’t seems I do sometimes. You callin’ yourself nigger where you from...I’m just confused. Why a man does somethin’ like dat, I don’t...I don’t...”

  As her voice trailed off, I understood her frustration a little better.

  “Aunt Sarah, it’s a name. Really. Just a stage name I use when I perform. It’s hard to understand, but everybody say it where I’m from. It’s nigga—wid an A. It’s like talkin’ to a friend.”

  “White folk walkin’ ’round callin’ theyself nigger, too?”

  I paused, knowing my honesty wouldn’t help my argument.

  “Well, naw, it’s just the black people...”

  She looked down and shook her head in disgust.

  “It’s really not that bad, Aunt Sarah. I call all my best friends my niggas—wid an A.”

  Aunt Sarah continued looking at the floor, as if she was searching for something. When she found it, she looked back up at me. “Lemme ask you a question, baby. You came ’ere back awhile now. And you been beat and broke harder than anybody I seen. You seen torment wid yo’ own two eyes, and you knows what it be likes...”

  I thought of the animal cage they’d locked me in and dropped my eyes. “Yes, ma’am.”

  “You seen any niggas since you got here?”

  My eyes shot back up and I stared at Aunt Sarah. “What?”

  “Ain’t you seen niggas—with da A, like you say—since you got here?”

  I kept my eyes on Aunt Sarah, searching myself for the right words to say to her, but none came. I had no answer for her. I diverted my eyes and looked around the room as if the solution to my conundrum was written on the walls. Still nothing.

  “I...I...” I stammered.

  As I sat there, drowning in a flabbergasted breath, I realized that I was stuck because I’d discovered the unthinkable. There were no niggas here.

  Aunt Sarah’s face showed more contentment than I’d ever seen from her. “I figure da...”

  BOOM!

  Aunt Sarah and I both jumped off of the bed as the door flew open. Mr. Talbert stormed into the hut, Bradley close at his heels. Mr. Talbert’s anger was splattered over his face. I saw the two white men and my body almost went haywire again. I could control my bladder at least, but little else. I fell back against the table and lowered myself to the floor as best I could while my hands shook relentlessly. I looked straight at the ground as the two men approached us, and as their shadows moved closer, I tried to stop hyperventilating.

  Aunt Sarah was standing by the bed. With a big grin, she threw on her invisible mask.

  “Massa Talbert! You’se sure s’prise me! How can I’se help ya, sah?”

  “This nigger has officially overstayed his welcome. I’m fed up!”

  “I don’t knows what you mean, sah,” she said, playing the role of an idiot.

  “Reverend Lewis has just forced, uh, demanded that I release this nigger to him in a week so that he can take him up to Massachusetts. Damn Northern bastards think they can come down here and take whatever they want.”

  I covered my mouth to keep from vomiting. Aunt Sarah lightly tapped her foot on the ground. She was telling me with the gesture to calm down.

  “Why y’spose he wanna go and do dat, sah?”

  “It doesn’t matter one bit why he wants to. He’s going to.” Mr. Talbert turned to Bradley, who seemed surprised by the information. “He’s making me take his ridiculous offer and sell him the nigger. Do you have any idea how much I could’ve gotten for a nigger that everyone thinks is as strong as an ape? I could’ve made a fortune. And now the Governor says I have to sell to that thief for the pennies he offered. There’s not a damn thing fair in this world, Bradley. There you go. You want to be a businessman so bad—this is your first lesson. There’s not a damn thing fair in this world.”

  Red in the face, Mr. Talbert caught his breath and stared at me with an intensity that felt like a burning cigarette being pressed into my flesh. I could feel it, even though I refused to look at him.

  “I’ll tell you one thing, though,” he said through gritted teeth. “That nigger’s not getting off of my plantation until he’s worked the skin right off of his fingertips. I don’t give a damn what Reverend Lewis says. By the time next week rolls around, he won’t be any good to anybody.”

  “Da boy ain’t ’pletely healed tho,’ Massa Talbert,” Aunt Sarah said. “Deys work to be done in ’ere and he—”

  “Don’t believe this wench no far than you can throw her, Mista Talbert,” Bradley shouted. “This nigger’s got ’nough work in ’im to go weeks. Dis nigger wench’s been lyin’, an I ’spect she been doin’ it a while now.”

  Mr. Talbert looked at Bradley, then at Aunt Sarah. “Have you been lying to me, Sarah?”

  “Naw, sah!” She shook her head so hard I thought it might spin right off of her neck.

  Mr. Talbert stood quiet for a moment, looking between the two of them. Then he looked only at Bradley. “Take him over to the field hand cabin. Tomorrow he gets up and works like everyone else. If he has been getting special treatment, it ends tonight.”

  Mr. Talbert took a step closer to Bradley and attemp
ted to whisper in his ear. I heard every word.

  “Work him as hard as he’ll go tomorrow. Let him know he’s a slave, but don’t permanently hurt him. Don’t do anything serious. The last thing I need right now is Lewis breathing down my back. You understand?”

  Bradley nodded his head, and Mister Talbert glanced at me once more. I could almost see the shadow of his gaze on the floor.

  “Too much trouble for a damn nigger...”

  He shook his head and walked out. Bradley looked at me and grinned as Mr. Talbert left. “Time I finish with you, you gon’ wish you was still in that cage. Tomorrow mornin’, you mine, boy. Now get up!”

  I jumped to my feet before he came over, making sure to keep my eyes turned away.

  “C’mon over here!”

  As I walked toward the door, I looked at Aunt Sarah. A shadow seemed to fall over her face as I passed her. When I got to the exit, Bradley stepped behind me and kicked the back of my legs, forcing me to the ground.

  “Jus’ like old times, ain’t it, nigger?” he said, laughing.

  I slowly stood up. The unexpected fall had hurt my legs more than I’d have thought, and my knees buckled as I tried to get back up. As crazy as Bradley was, he wouldn’t risk causing me any serious damage. He saw my struggle, and left me alone the rest of the way to the cabin.

  When we arrived, Bradley yelled out to the slaves inside. “Y’all come get dis here nigger, goddammit!”

  Sam, Law, and Buck all came out at the same time. They tried to hide the fear on their faces. They were all unsuccessful.

  “Dis here’s the ape nigger! He gon’ be out with da rest of y’all come mornin. Take ’im and get the hell back inside.”

  Law slowly came down the steps and helped me up. When I turned around Bradley was gone.

  “Dey gotcha workin’ da field come mornin?” Law said as he led me into the cabin.

  “Yeah.”

  “You ever work da field befo?”

  “Naw.”

  “God save ya.”

  I tried to ignore the dread in his voice as I lay on the closest straw mattress I could find.

  After I fell asleep morning came quickly. The loud clanging of the bells from the overseers tore me from my sleep just as the sun was poking over the horizon. I didn’t realize how much sleep I’d been getting until now. I dragged myself off the mattress and found Sam standing at the door, looking at me.

  “Best you hurry,” he said and ran out of the cabin.

  When I walked outside it felt as if I was in the Superdome after Katrina. I hadn’t seen so many black people together since I’d first gotten here. They were crowded around three different tree stumps, while three black women who were dressed considerably nicer than the slaves poured some sort of thick, chunky liquid into wooden bowls. The crowd, despite its size, had obviously done this before. No one said a word, but they moved so efficiently it was hard to believe they weren’t performing some sort of synchronized scene in a play.

  I stepped down from the steps and immediately lost myself in the fray. Slaves passed me by, and after a while, I didn’t know whether I was approaching the food or moving away from it. Buck passed me as he ravished his food, and when he noticed my confusion he stopped.

  “Stay right ’ere.”

  I froze in place as he disappeared into the crowd, and within seconds, he emerged with an extra bowl of breakfast slop.

  “Eat,” he said.

  Now that I had the concoction in my hands, I could tell by its stench that there was some sort of rotten meat in it. I looked at Buck with a raised brow. “I ain’t eatin’ this, dude. It’s gone bad.”

  Buck looked at me for a few seconds, and then broke out laughing. “You ’spectin’ steak?”

  “Naw, man, I’m just sayin’...”

  He held up his hand to stop me and finished laughing before he spoke to me again.

  “Sometime, dis only food we get all day.”

  “What?”

  “And dis be yo’ first day. I find a way if I was you to eat it.”

  The slop tasted worse than it smelled, and I gagged on my first mouthful.

  “You be alright,” Buck said while he practically licked his bowl clean. “We’s leavin’ soon.”

  I thought for a second of how rich Mr. Talbert must be if he had all this land and all these slaves to work it, but my mind quickly moved from that thought to wondering exactly what was in store for me. The overseers were back and yelling again, and all of the slaves were beginning to disperse to different areas. Again, I looked around, confused, until Bradley rode up beside me. He had a shotgun over his shoulder and a burlap sack in his hand that I could’ve climbed into and pulled up over my head. Without warning, he threw the burlap sack at my face. The material felt as if it took pieces of my skin with it as it fell to the ground. I kept my eyes from looking at Bradley as he yelled out at me.

  “You right over here, nigger. Right over here with me. We gon’ have us some fun.”

  A group of slaves were moving in the same direction as Bradley had pointed, and I made my way toward them as they followed the path. We walked for about a half-mile, and when we finally broke out of the weeds and into the clearing, I was already tired. The field stretched as far as my eyes could see, and was full of these plants that seemed to be covered by these white balls. I bent down to catch my breath, and reached out to touch one of the mysterious pieces of foliage.

  “Hold up...is this cotton?”

  “You niggers gidda work!” Bradley shouted. “Five bags apiece or you get the lash! Mista Talbert ain’t putting up with yo’ laziness no mo’ and alls I needs is a reason to use me beauty.” He held up the whip to remind us what he was talking about. “Now go!”

  The slaves began to bend down and I looked around, confused. I had no idea what I was supposed to be doing. After a few seconds of trying to learn by example, I heard a crack beside my ear, followed by a sharp, stinging pain on the upper part of my shoulder that dropped me to my knees. I turned around to see Bradley with the famous grin pasted on his face.

  “I told you we was gonna have us some fun,” he said.

  I stood up, making sure to keep my eyes focused on the moist earth.

  “I...I...don’t know...what to do...”

  I could feel the slaves around me stop and look back and forth at one another.

  “What you mean to tell me?” Bradley looked at me with his head cocked to the side. “You ain’t never picked no cotton?”

  I kept my gaze on the plants by my feet.

  “Naw...uh...no, sir...I ain’t never picked none.”

  Bradley continued to look sideways at me, then glanced at the two white men on horseback that were on either side of him. They shrugged, and when he turned back to look at me, he shook his head in disgust.

  “Don’t that beat all...a nigger that don’t know how to pick no cotton.” He turned back to his counterparts. “See? I would’ve turned this here nigger into the best worker anybody ever seen. He ruined is what he is, and he gon’ stay that way now ’cause that bastard’s stolen ’im from me. What the hell he gon’ do up north?”

  After agreement from his companions, he turned back to me. I dropped my head again.

  “I tell you what, though. Today, nigger, you gon’ pick me five bags a cotton, or I swear ta God, I’m gonna take the skin off yo’ back.”

  Law must have taken Bradley’s last words as permission of some kind, and run up to where I was kneeling. I didn’t register his presence until he grabbed my arms and lifted me up.

  “Look ’ere,” he said. He bent down and grabbed the cotton from three different plants with one hand. Somehow, he separated the seeds and thorns with his fingertips as he picked it, so that what he put in the bag was almost 100% cotton. He did this repeatedly, until the bottom of my bag was completely covered with cotton, and then he looked back at me. “Okay?”

  I nodded my head, and he went back to his section and returned to work.

  I could feel Br
adley looking at me, but didn’t return his gaze. Slowly, I bent down and reached for a handful of cotton. Immediately, a thick thorn forced its way into my index finger, and I snatched my hand back in pain. I could hear Bradley laughing as I pulled the unusually large thorn out of my flesh, and sucked on the wound to try and slow the bleeding. When I reached out again for the same ball of cotton, I was extremely careful not to get stuck. Getting the seeds and all out of the ball, I found, was a lost cause. By the time I put my first ball of cotton into the sack, I was sure I wouldn’t make it through the morning.

  “Ha! There’s a good nigger! And if that cotton’s dirty, you got the lash to answer to!”

  I bent down again and met a thorn that found its way into my palm.

  Six hours later I was sure that death was around the corner for me. My hands had been reduced to bloody appendages. My fingers, gnarled and mangled, curled permanently into the position needed to pick the remaining cotton. I’d painted most of the cotton in my sack red with my blood.

  The sun got hotter as the day wore on, and I could feel the cells of my skin dying as they succumbed to the ultraviolet rays. The slaves tried to help me, giving me their hats and cloths, but it was no use. I was already seeing triple by the time we broke for lunch, and now all the images and colors around me bled together like an ungodly watercolor. All of the bending over and standing up turned my back into a rusty door hinge. More and more frequently, it decided to stop operating, and caused me to collapse onto the dry ground. Bradley’s whip would inevitably seek me out there, and steal pieces of my flesh until I found my way back to my feet. This process took longer and longer, until one time I fell and didn’t even have the strength to yell out at the pain of the lash. It just kept coming, one slash after the other after the other, and I figured it wouldn’t stop until I was dead.

  At that point, Bradley realized the condition I was in. I couldn’t move from off of the ground after he whipped me, and when he jumped down off of his horse to beat me some more, he found that my eyes had begun rolling back in my head. His fear of Reverend Lewis cut his torture short, and with great reluctance, he sent for water from inside the big house. I could feel the worry of the other slaves, but understood why they couldn’t assist me. A few of them had asked and had been met with the whip themselves. They struggled to figure out ways to help me, and I struggled to figure out a way to stay alive.