Marilyn Peake - The Other

He walked down a hill and into a small building made from logs. After he came back out and returned to the barn, we made our way down to the log cabin. On this mission, we were to figure out who we could trust to reveal ourselves to. We thought it sounded like a slave had been hurt. It also sounded like her owner had been having sex with her and she was pregnant. This was right after the Civil War when slaves had technically been made free people by the U.S. government. Not all slaves had a way to leave the plantations, however, or a job to go to. And many owners made it difficult for them to leave.

We figured this woman might be willing to talk with us. And if she reported us to the plantation owner, he’d never believe her. He’d think she was crazy.

Waylon peeked through a small dusty window in the back of the cabin. He said, “There’s definitely a woman in there.”

I asked, “Do you see anyone else?”

He said, “No. What should we do? Just go inside?”

I said, “Yes. I sense that she needs help, but won’t open the door herself.”

Without another word, Waylon tried the doorknob. It turned easily. He pushed the door open and we both stepped inside. Quietly, he closed it behind us and placed a chair against it to keep people out until we were done.

The woman didn’t notice us. She was lying in bed, facing away from us. She was moaning loudly and crying.

She had dark brown skin, the color of the slaves in that space-time. We’d guessed that correctly.

The room smelled of blood and sex and something else I couldn’t identify.

I approached the bed. The woman was wearing a white nightgown soiled with blood. It had soaked through from her back. There was so much blood, I’d wondered if she’d been shot. From what I knew of the time period, however, I assumed she’d been whipped. The cloth appeared stuck to her skin.

I looked at Waylon. There was concern in his eyes. He nodded at me. I interpreted that as agreement that I should address the woman.

In as soft and gentle a voice as I could manage, I said, “Mary?”

The woman rolled over, pushing against all the pain that sudden motion must have caused her. Her knee caught in her gown and pulled against the cloth on her back. It must have ripped away skin as she did that. There was complete terror in her eyes.

I felt badly that we had frightened her.

It soon became apparent, however, that she wasn’t afraid of us. She must have expected another woman. Perhaps the wife of the plantation owner. I wondered if this woman had at different times been whipped by both of them.

In a hoarse voice, she said, “Mah prayers been answered. I prayed fuh you tuh come.”

I asked, “Who did you pray for, Mary?”

“Fuh mah guardian angel. God sent two angels. I prayed and prayed and prayed.”

I wondered how she saw us. Their pictures of guardian angels looked nothing like us. They had light tan skin. Ours was green. They had regular eyes. With our contact lenses in, we looked like beings with enormous black eyes. Angels were depicted with beautiful white wings. We had no wings and were unable to fly. Angels usually had golden hair. We were bald with green scalps. And we certainly didn’t have a golden glow surrounding us.

Unless Mary was suffering from fever or delirious from pain. I wanted to ask how she perceived us, but then was not the time. It seemed best to go along with her interpretation and pretend to be angels. No one would go looking around for angels, even if people did believe they had appeared to her.

I said, “Mary, you’re hurt…”

She said, “Help me. Please. I wid child. It prob’ly massuh’s child. I had two by him bafouh and dey was ripped from mah arms soon as dey weaned, and sold as slaves. I want dis baby tuh have a bettuh fate.”

I asked, “How are you hurt? What’s wrong exactly?”

Mary said, “I’m sick tuh mah stomach an’ throwin’ up from bein’ pregnant. But I been whipped, too, and I think it’s infected. I’m hot, den cold. I had a fever since yestuhday.”

I said, “May I see your back?”

She said, “Yes.”

I nodded to Waylon to give us some privacy. He walked behind a wardrobe and busied himself with something. I heard him moving objects around, probably studying them.

Mary tried to lift her nightgown up, but started crying. She said, “I cain’t do it mahself. Da pain’s too much.”

I said, “I can help you. Just tell me if I need to stop.”

Mary lifted the nightgown above her knees and knelt on the bed. She said, “Go on den.”

I took the bottom edge of her nightgown in my hands. Slowly, I lifted it up to her shoulders. She winced a number of times, but let me do it.

Her back was the most gruesome thing I’d ever seen. It was covered with blood and pus and clear fluid from areas that looked like burst blisters. Deep red lines ran like rivers across her back. They ran in all directions, crisscrossing each other like nature had gone mad and lost its way. Pus oozed out from some of those lines. There were patches where skin had been torn off her back and places where threads from her gown had adhered.

I knew that I could heal her wounds if we could get her to our ship.

I didn’t bother to consult Waylon. I said, “Mary, I can cure you.”

Letting her nightgown fall back around her body, sitting down on the bed with her legs over the side, she said, “I prayed fuh a miracle an’ God ansuhed mah prayers.” There were tears in her eyes.

I thought how to explain our ship to her. I said, “Mary, I’m an angel helper, not an angel exactly. I came from the sky, but I came in a metal ship. I have miracle medicine that can cure you, but you have to go with me to the ship. I can cure your wounds with a combination of heat, light and ointment.”

Mary started trembling. With the look of an abused, terrified animal, she leapt off the bed and cowered in the corner. She said, “I cain’t go. I be caught. I be whipped again.”

I said, “Mary, we were sent to help you. You should let us fulfill our mission.”

Waylon cleared his throat. I knew he wanted to talk this over with me.

Mary said, “I do not want tuh be a disobedient child.” She looked toward the ceiling, placing her hands together, her fingers pointing upward. “Lord, fo’give me. Thy will be done.” Turning to me, she said, “It will be safer tuhnight. Aftuh dark. It will be harder tuh see us.”

I said, “That’s fine. We’ll come back then. We’ll meet you right here.”

Mary grabbed my arm. She said, “God knows everythin’. He already knows dis. I don’t know if all angels know all things. But slaves are free now, by gov’ment order, if we can get tuh a free place. I in love wid Jessey. He fleein’ tuhnight wid Henry and Basil. I was supposed tuh go, too, but I so sick I can hardly stand up. Can dey come wid me tuh your ship? Den we can leave right aftuh you cure me. Can you bless us and help us get away? Please. Oh, please. I love God wid all mah heart. I try tuh be da best person I can be given my circumstances.”

I said, “That would be fine.”

My heart was breaking for this woman. We could help her. I felt this didn’t violate the Law of Noninterference to any significant degree. She and the other former slaves were planning to escape anyway. I’d give her treatment that would heal her back within hours. That’s all. It wasn’t like I was arranging their method of escape. If I wanted to, I could take them in the time travel pod to a completely different time and place. I wasn’t doing anything like that, just giving this woman treatment to help her wounds heal.

Mary said, “When it gets dark and you see lights flickerin’ in da windows of da big house, it should be safe fuh you tuh get me.” She thought for a moment and added, “I know you’re usually invisible—watchin’ ovah me, but invisible. Can you make me invisible, too?”