Walter Mosley - 47

They were both always laughing and grinning, except on the afternoon of the second day. That was when John asked Eighty-four about her babies.

"Tell me about your children, Tweenie," he said out of the blue. We were working on our eighth bag of cotton.

"I cain't talk about it," Eighty-four said with a tear in her voice. "It's a hurt in my heart."

"But maybe if you talk about it," John pressed, "then maybe you could stop it from hurtin'."

"You think so?" she asked. "'Cause you know I be thinkin' 'bout them all the time."

John stopped walking and even set down the half-filled sack of cotton. He put his hands on Eighty-four's shoulders and she went down on her knees like I've seen some women do when Brother Bob touched someone, saying that they were now one with the Holy Spirit.

John went down on his knees too and I looked around to make sure that no white man or Mud Albert was anywhere to see. I wanted to keep pulling cotton so that we didn't get in trouble but the hurt in Eighty-four's face made me mute.

"Dey's LeRoy an' Abraham," Eighty-four said softly. Tears were cascading down her berry black cheeks. "Dat's what I named 'em even though I knew that evil-hearted Mr. Stewart meant to take'em from me. Dey was so pretty… an' each time I give birth when I seed LeRoy, an' latah Abraham, I loved 'em so much that it hurt. An' den, when dey took 'em away, it hurt so bad I was sho I'd die. Dey was so young, but Mama Flore said dat dey new master's be good to 'em 'cause dey'd grow up into mens that'd be good workers."

Eighty-four began to howl then and John took her into his arms. I was sad for Eighty-four's loss and I was scared that somebody would hear her and punish us for malingering. And I was also amazed because John was crying along with Eighty-four. It was then that I realized that he felt lost in the same way that Abraham and LeRoy were lost.

The next morning Mud Albert had me take John out to the west field to see if there were any ripe peaches on a tree that the slaves had found out around there. Mud Albert called that tree his private orchard. John and I took a shortcut past the hanging tree.

On the way John was in a good mood. He was talking to me about my future.

"One day," he said, "many years from now you will think back on these days and say that it all must have been a bad dream…"

He didn't finish because when we got close to that tree

he grabbed his head and fell to the ground just as if Champ Noland had cuffed him. He screamed in pain.

"What is this place?" he pleaded. He writhed on the ground and white foam appeared at the corners of his mouth. "Why has there been so much suffering here?"

I got down on my knees and grabbed him by the shoulders.

"This is where they hangs killers an' robbers an' slaves gone wrong," I said. "What's the mattuh?"

He pointed up at the branch where I had once seen Tommy Brown hanging with his neck broken and his fat tongue sticking through dead lips. They hung Tommy for stealing a chicken from the Master's henhouse.

I had also seen Billy Lukas, slave Number Six, swinging in a breeze from that branch. They hanged Billy because Loretta McLaughry, a white woman, had said that he was leering at her as she was riding down the road in her buggy.

John yelled again and then begged me to take him out from there. I did what he asked.

"More than a hundred men have been murdered under that tree," he said when we were far from there. "Murdered."

John, Eighty-four, and I picked cotton for the next days. On my last day in the slave cabin all the men gathered around John because they were used to him entertaining them with some wild and unpredictable talk.

"If you so smart," Silent Sam, slave Number Forty-six, asked John, "why'd you give yourself up to be one'a Mas-tuh Tobias's slaves?"

"I don't know about you," John replied, "but I ain't no slave."

"You ain't?"

"No, suh I ain't."

"Den what you doin' pickin' cotton like a slave?"

"I'm pickin' cotton 'cause I wanna pick cotton, of course."

Upon hearing this every man in the cabin, including me, broke out into laughter.

"So that mean if you didn't wanna pick cotton you wouldn't have to," Sam speculated.

"Dat's right."

"An' how you gonna get away wit' that?"

"No gettin' away to it, brothah. If I didn't wanna pick cotton I jes' wouldn't do it."

"But then they gonna beat you."

"That's what freedom's all about," John said in a serious voice. "Free is when you say yea or nay about what you will and will not do. Nobody can give you freedom. All freedom is, is you."

There was no more laughing that night. I could see in the men's faces that they were wondering about John's words. Many of them had thought the same words that he spoke out loud.

I turned in with the rest and went to sleep, not realizing that that was to be my last night as a slave.

"Lemme take this next bag, John," Eighty-four said when my friend reached down to get our next sack the next day. We had filled four bags of cotton already.

"Thas okay, Tweenie," John said as he threw the sack over his shoulder. "Me'n Forty-seven have to go in the afternoon so I might as well tote till then."

"Where you goin'?" she asked. There was the pain of loss in her voice.

"Tobias wanna see me."

It was the first I'd heard of it.

"Mastuh?" Eighty-four asked.

"Tobias," John said again.

"What you got to do wit' him?"

"Maybe if he ain't lookin'," John said instead of answering her question, "I'll grab some sugar an' put it in my pocket. An' the next time they send me out here I'll give that sugar to you for bein' so sweet."

For a second there I thought that there was something wrong with Eighty-four's face but then I realized that she was grinning. One of her lower teeth was missing but m was still a nice smile. The power to bring happiness into that sad slave's face was greater than healing my hands, taming the master's dogs, and putting the plantation to sleep all rolled together.

"You the one sweet," Eighty-four said to John.

I must have been smiling too because Eighty-four frowned again and said, "What you laughin' at, fool?"

Her sudden anger caught me off guard but luckily I didn't have time to speak and make things worse because just at that moment Mud Albert could be heard calling.

"Forty-seven!" he cried. "Numbah Twelve!"

I cocked my head as if listening for more and, in doing so, I was able to avoid Eighty-four's angry question.

"Got to go," I said to John.

"Bye, Tweenie," John said. He dropped the burlap sack and smiled.

She grabbed onto his arm and looked into his eyes beseechingly.

"You come on back, heah?" she said.

And there again was the power of my new friend. We had only been in the fields with Eighty-four for a few days

but she was already heartbroken at the prospect of his departure.

I understood her pain. I would feel the same way when John was gone from the Corinthian Plantation. And I was sure that he would be gone one day. I knew in my heart that a person as beautiful and smart as John was not destined to remain a slave on some backwater farm.

But John wasn't gone yet. He and I ran down a rough path through the cotton bushes. Along the way we saw dozens of slaves bent over in half toting giant sacks of cotton. Flies zipped around them and the sun beat down like Satan's hammer on their backs.

About half the way to where Mud Albert was John stopped and looked out at the slaves.

"We cain't waste time, John," I said. "Albert expect us ta hump it."

"I'm just looking," John said.

"Slave ain't s'posed t'be lookin'," I told him. "Slave s'posed to be doin' sumpin so that the mastuh don't have t'beat him."

"I have no master, Forty-seven. No master but the power that keeps my feet on the ground."