Garden of Salt and Stone

by A. L. Burgess Jr.

  Through the smoke, Pavel could see Yakob escaping. He grabbed Yakob by the pant leg. “Where do you think you’re going?”

  “The plane—it’s coming back. We’ve got to get to cover, now!” Yakob yelled, pulling his leg free.

  Pavel looked to the front seat. “My friends, we must help them!”

  Yakob stood up alongside the wreck and, as the smoke billowed from the broken windows, pulled on the crumpled passenger side door. It was too damaged to open. “There’s no way to get them out!”

  “Comrades?” he shouted, and pushed on the passenger who gave an agonizing grunt in return. “We’ll free you momentarily,” he assured. “You will see.” Pavel gathered his pistol and crawled from the burning car.

  After making the initial pass, the fighter made a turn in the distance and lined up for another strafing run.

  On the opposite side of the road Yakob spied a lone tree next to a small outcropping of rocks. It was the only suitable protection for hundreds of yards in any direction. It was not perfect, but it would have to do. He made a break for it.

  Emerging from the car, Pavel tripped Yakob and sent him sprawling to the ground. “You’re not going anywhere until you help my friends.”

  “I told you, they’re trapped.”

  “I don’t care,” Pavel admonished, rising to his feet and pointing a gun at Yakob’s head. “You’ll help me free them or die right here.”

  Yakob motioned to the fighter in the distance. “We’ll be dead too if we don’t get to cover.”

  The fighter plane’s engine roared as it renewed the attack.

  Pavel heard the heavy caliber gunfire and stood obstinately in the path of the bullets, forcing Yakob to endure the strafing run.

  The barrage narrowly missed both of the men. The gunfire continued on and scored a direct hit, turning the car into a raging inferno.

  Pavel heard the passenger screaming in agony. “My Comrades!” Pavel yelled, turning to Yakob. “What have you done?”

  Yakob backed away from Pavel and the fire.

  Pavel wielded his pistol like a club and leaped forward. He struck Yakob in the side of the head, sending him to the ground. “You’ve killed them!” He screamed out, and fell on Yakob swinging wildly.

  Yakob threw Pavel to the side and struck him in the face with the handcuffs.

  Pavel reeled, but got to his feet and began kicking Yakob violently. “This is for my friends!”

  Yakob rolled away and regained his footing.

  Pavel flipped the gun around and fired at Yakob, missing him.

  Yakob rushed Pavel and slammed him to the ground, throwing the gun into the snow.

  Heavier than Yakob, Pavel rolled over and began choking him. “I’ll kill you!”

  Although Pavel was an out-of-shape bureaucrat, he was strong—very strong. Unable to dislodge him, Yakob placed his hands on Pavel’s chest and pushed as hard as he could.

  Pavel didn’t let go and tightened his grip around Yakob’s throat.

  Yakob gasped for breath, but he was undeterred and pushed back.

  “Not so smart now are you, Comrade?” Pavel said, struggling with all his might to suffocate Yakob.

  Fighting consciousness, Yakob continued pushing Pavel as high as he could.

  The German fighter roared back and strafed the area once again. The bullets traced a path across the fighting men.

  Yakob felt Pavel heave momentarily as a bullet struck him in the back and then go limp. He lowered Pavel’s dead body slowly onto his chest and lay motionless as the fighter circled the scene.

  After several passes and satisfied that the mission had been completed, the German plane turned toward the horizon and left.

  Yakob rolled Pavel’s body onto the ground and began searching through his clothes for the handcuff key. Among the contents of one pocket, he found an old photograph. In the picture, Pavel was smiling grandly with his wife and children. Yakob shook his head.“You should have listened to me, Comrade Pavel.” He returned the photo and continued his efforts until he found the key. Free of his bonds, Yakob collected what items he could and placed them in his rucksack.

  The burning car sent black smoke high into the clear morning sky. It would not be long before a curious soldier spotted the smoldering fire and was ordered to investigate it.

  Yakob looked in all directions. He could go back to Zhitomir and his troops. He was certain his men would hide him, but if he were caught, all of them would pay the price. Going to Kiev or back into Russia was out. Every able bodied male was conscripted for the war effort which made hiding in plain sight impossible. For that matter, if Yakob was captured in any zone occupied by the Soviet Union it meant an immediate death sentence. No, he could not risk being anywhere near the Red Army. Yakob turned to the south. The German lines were some miles away, but if he could slip through undetected, he might be able to catch a refugee ship heading out of the war zone. It was risky, but it was his only chance.

  “Damn war,” Yakob lamented, peering back at the burning car and Pavel’s body. With a heavy sigh, he slung the rucksack over his shoulder and started walking south, across the desolate, snow covered plain.

  Chapter 2

  Drake Plantation, Georgia, U.S.A – July 9th, 1831

  A single, flickering candle illuminated the small space of the slave cabin as Kizzy lay on her rickety, straw-mattress bed groaning in misery. Wearing a simple, coarsely made dress, she moved her legs back and forth in an attempt to obviate the agony of her labor pains. Her dark hands clenched and unclenched the thin bedding underneath. Drenched in sweat, Kizzy’s youthful face winced at the slightest movement of the soon-to-be-born child.

  Honey moved around Kizzy’s cabin with an experienced purpose. Carrying a bowl of water, Honey stirred up the dust as she rummaged through various piles of belongings that dotted the floor. In her mid-thirties, about ten years older than Kizzy, Honey’s hard life was etched deeply onto her face. Her age, coupled with her matter-of-fact nature, made her Kizzy’s stalwart friend. As one of the old ladies on the plantation, Honey was the most knowledgeable in such things as birthing a child and her stoic demeanor brought a certain calm to the process. Exasperated in her search, she turned to Kizzy and asked “Ain’t y’all got a rag someplace?” Honey shook her head and added, “Lordy child, this place a mess. I know y’all ain’t been feeling good, but y’all better off livin’ with the hogs.”

  Along the back wall of the small slave cabin sat Brister. In his late forties, he was the oldest of the plantation slaves and was there at the masters’ behest to give an accurate account of the birthing. His job was to make sure the new arrival was given the care befitting that of the Drake Plantation’s youngest slave and to make sure Kizzy was able, and willing, to care for it.

  Amused at Honey’s rhetoric, Brister pulled a well-used pipe from his shirt pocket and rattled it into his mouth. At home with the entire process, he sat back and added, “Honey, I can go up and see if the missus got a rag?”

  “Y’all think you’re helpin’, Brister, but y’all ain’t doing nothin’ cept gettin’ in the way.”

  Kizzy raised her arm and pointed at a ladder heading to a makeshift loft in the rafters. In a weak voice, she said, “Up there—Isaac got an old shirt.”

  Honey climbed the ladder into the loft and came down with a piece of cloth. She moved to the bedside, kneeled, and began rinsing the cloth in the bowl of water. “Y’all got to be strong, Kizzy, strong for the both of y’all.” Honey wiped down Kizzy’s face and cleaned off her legs.

  “It hurts,” Kizzy moaned. “It don’t feel right.”

  “It’ll be over soon,” replied Honey. She pulled up Kizzy’s dress and felt for evidence of crowning. “Y’all close, Baby.”

  Kizzy’s body tensed and she cried out, “It’s another one!”

  “I think this is it,” Honey said, turning to Brister. “Fetch the girls.”

  “Oh, I see, I’m helpin’ now,” Brister replied with a smile. He rose up slowly and
arthritically ambled toward the cabin door.

  Honey shook her head. “Y’all be quiet and fetch them girls.”

  “I hear ya, I ain’t that old.” Brister chuckled, moving to the door and disappearing through it.

  Honey dipped the cloth in the bowl of water and loosely wrung it out. She turned to the half-delirious Kizzy and wiped down her face and forehead. “There y’all are, Child.”

  “It hurts bad,” Kizzy agonized, “I don’t remember hurting this bad before.”

  “Every birth is different—it’ll be over soon.”

  Kizzy rolled from side to side on the bed trying to get comfortable. Every move she made brought winces of pain to her face. She stopped moving and began to tense so hard she shook. Kizzy screamed, “It’s comin’!”

  Honey reached in and used her hand to measure Kizzy’s dilation. She looked back at the cabin door. “Where’s that useless old man?” Honey said testily. She got up and walked the few steps to the door. “If he’s out there jawin’ I’m gonna have his hide.” She opened the door just in time for Brister and two teenage slave girls to walk in.

  Seeing the angry look on Honey’s face Brister sheepishly said, “They was down in the field cleanin’ up.”

  “I’ll clean y’all up.” Honey pointed to the back wall. “Now git! We got women work to do.” She stared Brister down until he resumed his old position and then turned her attention to the girls. “This is y’alls first birthin’ so do what I be sayin’.”

  “Yes’em,” the frightened girls replied.

  Scared, both of the girls watched Kizzy writhe in pain as they took up stations on opposite sides of her bed.

  Honey knelt down by Kizzy’s bedside and again, felt for dilation. When she pulled her hand back it was covered in blood. Honey held her hand up and studied it. “We close.”

  Kizzy let out another ear-splitting scream.

  “Girls, this is what I want y’all to do,” Honey said and seated herself on the foot of the bed. Showing the girls, she lifted Kizzy’s closest leg. Honey placed the leg over her shoulder and planted her weight fully behind her. This would give Kizzy the needed leverage to push. Honey let Kizzy’s leg down gently and moved aside. “Okay girls, y’all got to be strong—she’s gonna move a lot.”

  The look on their faces was one of terror, but the girls dutifully took up their instructed positions.

  Honey, seeing that Brister had moved to the foot of the bed, complained, “There ain’t nothin’ in here for you to look at, now git back over there!”

  Downtrodden, Brister ambled back to his chair and sat down.

  Honey measured Kizzy’s dilation, this time she felt the crown of the baby. “This baby’s coming,” she said, and got close to Kizzy’s face. “Y’all got to push now.” She waited for a response, but Kizzy didn’t reply. “You understand?”

  Kizzy nodded and let out a scream as she strained to push the baby out. She moved her legs wildly and knocked the girls to the floor.

  “Her pain is strong. Y’all got to be just as strong, girls—come on,” Honey said.

  The two slave girls resumed holding Kizzy’s legs and leaned in hard.

  Kizzy let out another scream and strained to push the baby out.

  Honey reached in and felt the crown of the baby—no progress. She wiped down Kizzy’s face and said, “Girl, y’all got to push this baby out. If y’all don’t, we’re gonna have to cut you. Y’all understand?”

  Kizzy screamed and pushed with all her might.

  Honey reached down and felt that the head of the baby was out of the vaginal canal. “That’s it, child, one more push ought to do it.”

  Exhausted and breathing hard, Kizzy pushed one last time and then fell back to her bed.

  The baby slid out of the birth canal, took its first breath, and began wailing.

  Honey gently scooped up the bawling newborn and called to Brister, “Bring that knife over here.”

  Brister grabbed a rust covered knife from the dusty shelf and carried it to the bed. He put the knife up to the umbilical cord and cut through it. As he did, the newborn let out the mother-of-all-screams.

  A bright flash of light filled the small slave cabin. The flash was so intense that everyone present was forced to cover their eyes. As the light diminished, the newborn was left smiling and cooing in Honey’s arms.

  “Would y’all look at that!” exclaimed Brister. “We seen the Lord’s power this evenin’!”

  “Almighty, that was a peculiar thing,” Honey said, wiping the blood from the newborn’s face. “Look how bright his eyes are.”

  “Have you ever seen that?” asked Brister.

  “Never.”

  “That’s because the Lord has blessed this child!” crowed Brister. “There’ll be somethin’ special about this here child!”

  Honey held the baby close to Kizzy. “See here, look what the Lord brought you—a boy.”

  Kizzy opened her eyes and smiled weakly. “He beautiful.” She partially sat up and carefully took the newborn from Honey.

  Eyes wide open and smiling, the baby studied Kizzy.

  “Have y’all ever seen a baby smile like that?” Honey asked. “He’s looking at y’all, because he knows you’s his momma.”

  Kizzy shook her head. “I ain’t never seen that before.”

  “I ain’t neither,” Honey replied.

  “That’s because the Lord sent that child special,” spouted Brister matter-of-factly.

  Two young slave boys burst through the cabin door and stirred up the dusty floor.

  “We heard a baby crying. Is he born yet?” asked one of the boys.

  “Brister, why don’t y’all be useful and throw them boys out,” Honey ordered.

  Brister nodded in agreement. “Isaac, you boys gotta git outta here.” He glanced sheepishly at Honey. “I’ve been told there’s women folk business goin’ on.”

  “Then why’s y’all in here?” asked Isaac.

  Brister laughed, “Because I’m too old to care, that’s why.” He hardened a bit, “Now go on and git!”

  “Brister,” a more focused Kizzy called out, “go on, let’em stay.”

  Isaac and his friend made funny faces at Brister and raced to Kizzy’s bedside.

  Kizzy held up the squirming newborn and showed the boys. “Come and meet your new brother, Isaac.”

  “What’s his name, Mama?” asked Isaac.

  “Well now, that’s a fine question,” Honey said. “What y’all gonna call him?”

  “I suppose, I was gonna name him after his daddy.”

  “What?” Honey said defiantly. “That poor fool run outta here and never come back—he prolly dead anyway. Good riddance, I say.”

  Kizzy thought for a moment. “I did always like the name Silas.”

  “Woo-wee, that’s a fine name for this here Lord’s child,” Brister praised.

  “I like that name too,” Honey beamed.

  “I guess Silas it is,” Kizzy said, presenting the child to her older son. “Isaac, say hello to your new brother, Silas.”

  Continue the Adventure!