Mind Of A Slave

"Someone's gone"

6.

I LEAVE THE planation the next morning, along with twenty other slaves, with the secret ground between my teeth. It's a Sunday, so it is unusual to have to work. At Mr Walter's, we were given Sunday afternoon to do most of our individual farming and wash and spend time with our families.

We walk in lines, ropes tied tightly around our necks, to begin a long and tiresome journey into town.

Master Ramier's farm appears to be in the middle of nowhere because we march through field after field without catching sight of a single person.

I allow myself to be immersed in the calming sound of trudging shoes and I watch the line of bobbing heads in front of me. I scan the people and my eyes fall on Agnes, who winks encouragingly. I see Mama near the back of the group and Beckey walks to my right.

And I see Amos right behind her. His head is lowered and he studies his shoes, locked in a rhythmic trance.

We walk on hard, dirt roads, which are overgrown with grass and weeds. I can see marks in the dirt from where carts have rolled past or horse's hooves have left moon-shaped imprints.

The man behind me steps on the back of my heel. I trip and feel the chain around my neck jerk me back into place.

Somebody near me hums.

Several women have their eyes closed. They walk as if they are asleep. Their arms swing robotically and their feet are placed one in front of the other, synchronised, rehearsed.

I look down at my own feet and try to imagine myself in twenty years time. I would look like these sleep-walking women. I would be walking without thinking. I would be so used to the cruelty of slave-traders that I wouldn't think twice about walking for miles in thin-soled shoes, and I wouldn't have to watch where I put my feet, and I wouldn't care about the cold metal against my neck.

The thought of being buried so deeply into the slavery industry that I wouldn't even feel feelings the way a white person would, depresses me.

Slavery has stolen so much from me. I have lost my Papa, the little dress I used to wear when I was young, my old collection of stones, even my sense of possession over myself. And now I feel that I am beginning to loose my identity.

I suck in a short breath of air, as if it is my way of holding back my soul, keeping it from being pulled out by the Louisianan Masters.

I hold my breath until by lungs ache. Then I let the air out, slowly, steadily, knowing that nobody can make me rush. Breathing. That is still one part of myself that I am allowed to control.

There are four lines of slaves and Master Ramier leads us on a horse, a whip tucked under his belt. Our chains are tied to the mare's saddle.

When we approach a river, I decide that we must be close to the town.

We cross a bridge with some difficulty and finally I see a line of small shops. We walk along the river and turn into a road where there are more shops, and people hurrying past us in groups. We stop outside a store that has bold black letters above its door. 'QUEENSWARE: NEGRO SALES'. A skinny man has been tied to a chair by the door.

There is a small building next to it labeled: 'ALEXANDRIA MANUFACTORY.'

Across the street is a vegetable store. I watch two white women leaving with baskets of apples and lemons. One of then catches my eye, then hastily looks away and quickens her stride.

There are lots of people milling around the shops. Most of them are slaves. They are tired and dirty. I suppose I look the same.

Master Ramier chains the man at the front of my line to the fence outside the 'QUEENSWARE' store. A short man with a grey moustache appears in the doorway of the building, frowning.