Mind Of A Slave

Bread, Peaches and Freedom

"C'MON." AMOS PULLS me sideways.

"What?"

"Follow me."

I trail him as he runs to the edge of the Plantation and climbs over the fence. He sits at the bank of the pond and pats the ground for me to sit beside him.

"You's hungry?"

"So hungry," I say, "I don't thinks we gotta wait long though."

Amos pulls a loaf of bread out of his pocket and breaks off a piece and pops it in his mouth. Then he tears off another piece and hands it to me.

"Where'd you get it?" I say. I don't accept the piece he offers me.

"The pile a food on the table. When that man come in I tooks some bread."

I stare at the bread in his hand. It looks stale, crumbly, delicious, but I don't take it. I can't take it.

"What's up, Cass? Ain't you hungry?" Amos asks.

"You's a thief," I tell him. I don't care that I sound rude. He took food that all of us slaves were meant to share. He stole it.

"Cass"-

"They told us to wait!" I yell at him. "Jack's Papa were sayin' we gotta share it wid the others!"

"You gone wait, then?" Amos shouts back. "You gone wait for real?"

"O' course! I ain't a thief. I ain't stealin' nothin'"

Amos shakes his head. He runs his hand through his hair, frustrated, angry. "We gotta eat, Cass."

"We's gonna eat, alright? We jus' gone wait firs'"

"If we wait, we gone die."

I look at him, directly, trying to understand him. He stares back at me. The serious expression on his face is hard to ignore.

"You ain't gotta do what people say no more, Cass. We's free. You an' me an' everyone else don't hafta listen to what Jack's Papa's sayin'. We can make our own rules, live our own life," Amos says. "Ain't that what you want?"

"I ain't stealin', not 'cause Jack's Papa tell me not to, but 'cause I knows I'm not meant to. I can't steal from every'un who are jus' like us. We gotta work together, see? I don't knows why you doesn't see that."

Then I get up and I walk to the outhouse and I heat up some water and I have a long bath.

My hair gets tangly when it's wet. After changing into my spare clothes, I rake my fingers through it, pulling apart knots. Strands of hair fall away in my hands. When my hair is somewhat smooth, I twist it into a bun at the back of my head and cover it with my head wrap.

I walk outside and make my way to the orchard. I meander between the trees, looking up into the branches, clinging to the hope that there will be a peach, just one, somewhere, hiding behind leaves. But there is nothing.

"Cass?"

I see Beckey standing with Agnes a few yards away.

"You's lookin' for food too?" I ask.

They nod simultaneously.

"It ain't necessary," Agnes says. "We ain't gone starve like every'un's sayin'. Then soldiers jus' freed us. They gone look after us."

"You hears that?" Beckey says suddenly.

"What?"

"Shhh. Listen."

There's a shout in the distance.

"I hears screamin'," I say.

"Probly a soldier," says Agnes.

But it's not a soldier. It's one of us, a slave, a man dressed in rags, running barefooted towards me. Another man chases him, cursing, crying.

I feel Beckey's arm around my shoulder, an action of protection, something my Mama would have done.

The first man stops when he reaches us, but only because the other man bowls him to the ground. They roll in the mud, arms thrashing, words exploding. I see a confusion of shirt and arms and teeth and hair and sweat and then I see something else. Something round and pink. A peach, held captive in the hand of one of the men.

"They's fightin' over a peach," I whisper.

"They's crazy," Agnes sighs, "They's actin' like we never gone be give food again."

I send Beckey a fleeting glance. She continues to watch the men.

The man with the fruit aims a punch at the other man's face, causing blood to spurt from his nose. He puts his hands to his face, crying for help, sobbing, shouting, until the other man hits him hard on the head and he lies still, silent. The other man stands over him, his chest expanding and contracting with every heavy breath. His arms fall to his sides. His bloodied fingers are shaking. But the peach is still in his hand.

He sees us watching him. He looks from us to the man and back to us again.

"I'm sorry," he chokes.

He puts the peach in his pocket and walks away.

"A peach?! He ain't gotta hurt a man for a peach!" Agnes spits. I don't say anything and neither does Beckey, but I know exactly what she's thinking.

The man on the ground moans. Blood trickles down his nose and pools in the dip between his mouth and his chin.

I should help the man. I should pull him to his feet and guide him back to the cabins, but I don't do anything because I'm stunned.

Agnes is talking rapidly under her breath. Beckey's eyes are closed. I watch the man.

"Oh my God," the man mumbles.

Beckey walks over to him.

"You's alright," she says. She takes off her head wrap and presses it onto his nose to clot the blood.

"I can do it," the man says gruffly, and he rises with a sudden newfound energy and sprints away through the trees, leaving Beckey kneeling in the dirt.

She looks up at me.

"Noah ain't comin' back, is he?"

I shake my head.

"So...we's free?"

For as long as I can remember, I've dreamed about hearing those words, but for some reason now they sound foreign in my ears.

"We's free."

"We's free."