Walter Mosley - 47

"Numbah Twelve?" came a voice from outside of our

hotbox.

"Eighty-four?" I answered.

"Is Johnny in there wit'you, Forty-seven?" she asked through the door.

"Yeah but he out. It's 'cause'a no watah I think."

"I brought you an' him some watah an' two apples," she said. "Mud Albert sneaked out an' unchained me an' give me this here from Flore."

And with that the food slot opened. I could feel the cool breeze of night coming in through there. She handed through a small water skin and two apples. Because my hands were free I was able to reach out and take her gifts.

"Tell him that I be prayin' for you. I sure will."

The girl that John called Tweenie closed the food slot and I held the jug to his lips. At the first taste of the water on his tongue he made a sound in his throat and roused. I held the cup to his lips until he drank every drop.

When he realized that he'd finished the water he asked, "Did you drink already?"

"Yeah," I lied. I figured that he needed the water more than I did and, anyway, the fruit that Eighty-four gave us had water in it too.

We each ate an apple. I devoured mine, core and all.

This is another moment that I have to stop and explain the crazy contradiction of the pain of slavery. Those apples certainly weren't the best that I've ever eaten. I have traveled, in my many years, near and far across America and beyond. I have eaten the most delicious fruits that our rich soil has to offer. But that mealy little apple that Eighty-four fed us in our prison was the sweetest, most delicious thing that I've ever tasted. No great meal of succulent pork and sweet potatoes could ever be so satisfying. That's because we were starving. We were near death. And those small spotted fruit contained the taste of salvation.

In the morning the door to our cell was opened and we were dragged out into the light of day. All around the yard stood the field slaves, in chains. The house slaves were also there Fred Chocolate, Big Mama Flore, Nola, and the rest of the servants. Sitting on fences and wagons all around were Mr. Stewart and a dozen or so white riflemen. Dead center of the yard was a huge wagon wheel leaned up against a hay wagon.

When I saw that big wheel my heart went cold.

John and I were thrown to the ground and Master Turner came out wearing a black suit like Andrew Pike had worn the day he interrupted Ned's funeral.

"We are here today," Tobias said, "to punish the disrespect, thievery, and mutiny of these two niggers, Number Twelve and Number Forty-seven. They are bein' punished for talkin' back, for stealin' a handkerchief, and for runnin' away while on business for their master. I have brought out all you other slaves so that you will see and learn, so that you will remember not to forget your place in the scheme of things as God has decreed.

"I have to punish these boys because it's the responsibility of the white man to keep the black from forgettin' his place. But I am not unfeelin'. I could have both of you boys whipped until you were dead. But I know that po' Forty-seven was led astray by this new nigger here. So the punishment for Number Twelve is twenty-four lashes and a visit to Mr. Stewart's shack…"

"No!" Eighty-four shouted. I saw her try to run out into the yard but her chains and the women around her held

her back.

"And as for Forty-seven, he is to receive just twelve

lashes "

Mama Flore ran out into the yard yelling words that made no sense to me. She was tearing at her breast and running right for Tobias. A big white man stood forward and knocked Flore down with the butt of his rifle. The moment he did that Mud Albert ran out. The rifleman swiveled and shot Albert in the chest.

All of this was almost too much for me to take in and so when Champ Noland also broke line and was beaten to the ground by other white men I hardly noticed. All I could see was Mama Flore like a lump on the ground and Mud Albert crawling toward her and bleeding like a well-pump bringing up water.

Albert made it almost to Flore's side but then he stopped moving. I'm sure that was the moment of his death.

"Get on with it!" Tobias Turner shouted then.

John was dragged to the wagon wheel and chained to i hand and foot. Mr. Stewart counted out the lashes as a bi &white man named Thaddeus Murphy worked his bullwhip in a hideous way.

John didn't cry or shout. He just took the lashes and hung down. When that was over they put me in his place.

I cried and shouted for Mama Flore. I begged and screamed and finally I passed out. Before I lost consciousness I had a vision of myself as a young child sitting on Flore's lap and playing with her ears.

"You got big ears, Mama Flore," I remembered saying.

"You got little bitty ones," she said, "like chocolate sea-shells."

And then I passed out.

My back was on fire when I came awake in the slave cabin that afternoon.

"You niggahs really messed up," Pritchard said.

I couldn't see the lame carpenter but I knew that he was standing there behind me.

"Yessiree," Pritchard cackled, "you niggers just had to act all uppity and now you see what you get. Mud Albert dead, Champ Noland in the Tomb. They say that Mama Flore is in her closet gettin' ready for her harp."

"Mama Flore dyin'?" I cried. "Naw it ain't true."

"You see?" Pritchard said. He came into view on my left side, leaning on his crutch and grinning. "You see? Talkin' back to your betters is why you got them sores on yo back. That's why Numbah Twelve out in Mr. Stewart's killin' shack right now. That's why Mud Albert is dead in the barn."

My heart was devastated. Mud Albert dead, Mama Flore dying. Champ Noland, the most powerful man anyone had even seen, chained and beaten. All of that happened because I asked John to save Eloise. And even though he had saved the girl and even though I was happy that she was alive, I was miserable at the cost of her survival. Everyone I had ever loved was destroyed.

I was in terrible pain but still I lifted myself from the slave cot. I wasn't surprised that my feet weren't chained. The wounds on my back were so bad that they probably expected me to die. The bullwhip does dreadful damage to human skin. It tears all the way down to bone. I was bleeding from a dozen crisscrossed tears in my flesh, but still I got to my feet at the foot of the bed.

"Are you crazy, niggah?" Pritchard cried. "Git back in that bed before somebody white sees you."

"Get away from me, Pritchard," I said. "I'm small and I'm hurtin' but I will find a way to get back at you if you get in my way."

"It ain't me you got to worry 'bout, boy. It's Tobias an' Stewart and every white man from here to the border of Tennessee that's gonna be after you."

I made my way to the cabin door. Every step I took I worried about falling down. But I kept on walking because of the hatred in my heart. I had never felt like that before. Tobias had taken everything from me, everything except John and I would die before I let Mr. Stewart destroy him.

I had never been to the killin' shack before but I knew where the path was that led there. I stumbled out behind the slave cabin and then down the trail that had been the doom of so many black souls. There were birds crying at my passage but to my wounded heart they sounded like

the tormented voices of all of the slaves Mr. Stewart had tortured and killed.

I didn't know what I would do when I got to my destination. I probably wouldn't live out the day but I didn't care. My friend needed me and I would not let him down.

I lumbered through the vegetation, feeling the raw wounds on my back with every step. When I looked down I could see the blood trickling to my feet. But that didn't stop me. I just took one step after another down the evil lane.