Mind Of A Slave

Julia

4.

MAMA IS THE only person I have left who I love. I like to think that I have my Papa, too, but I don't know where he is. Nobody knows. He could be miles away, or in this state, but we'd never know it.

The last time I saw him was when he was dragged away from Mr Walter's home, and I remember him fighting against the men who were trying to pull him away. But no black man ever wins a fight against a white man.

They took him early in the morning.

I know that he was sold.

Through the years I have created a picture of him in my mind, painted from Mama's descriptions. I imagine him to be tall and strong and gentle and full of love for his family. I think that some would be afraid of his powerful expression, but if they got closer they would see that his features are kind and soft, like melted wax. He is probably an obedient slave, one who works hard, but never lets go of his will for freedom.

Someone's hair brushes my forehead. I open my eyes slowly and her smile is immediate, full of relief. I sit up and Mama helps me to my feet. I wobble on my toes, falling towards her.

She holds me tightly until I regain my balance. "Okay?"

I breathe in fast. "Yeah."

"Just tired."

"And hungry," I say. I look around foggily. I am standing in the meeting room with Mama and Beckey, who half walk, half drag me out of the room. I taste flem at the back of my throat and I concentrate on matching my footsteps to Mama's to keep my mind off vomiting.

"Is he mad?" I ask.

"Who?" Says Beckey.

"Master Ramier."

"No, no," She pushes aside my concern with a flick of her wrist. "Why, you knows he ain't that kind a Master."

"But..." I stop, puzzled.

"He been strange recently?" Beckey suggests.

"That's one way to put it," I snap. "None a us got nothin' for lunch, nothin' at all."

"You mean you has been workin' since dawn an' you wasn't given nothin' to eat?" Beckey's voice rises, but she doesn't sound shocked at all.

"Yes."

"No surprise you is in a mood."

I swing round to face her.

"The rest a you got to eat?" I struggle to hold back my anger. Beckey's startled lips move to form a word but no sound comes out. "You was given time for lunch! And I weren't," I cry.

Beckey's eyes waver from me to Mama. Then she leans in close. I'm breathing hard. Her eyes are like glossy brown pebbles. "Cass, listen to me," she whispers. "We is all slaves here. Ain't none a us got easy lives. I been travlin' from place to place, master to master. I'm one a the older slaves now and I've experience more than I want. You gotta understand that this life you is livin' now gonna be the easiest a the difficult."

Our chests rise and fall together.

I swallow, turning her words over inside my head. I don't want to talk anymore; I'm glad when we approach my cabin and I find that there is no-one else there.

I sit alone on my bed, surrounded by fruit, bread scraps and my own frustration.

I break a hunk of bread into pieces and place them on my tongue, chew, swallow, in a robotic manner. Nobody comes to fetch me for the rest of the evening; I suppose I have been let off work due to 'illness'. It's the kind of thing my Master would do. But I can't help wondering why he would starve a slave, only to let them off work for the afternoon. It doesn't seem efficient to me.