Mind Of A Slave

Keep Running

17.

WHEN THE FOREIGN man climbs into his wagon and drives it away through the trees, I stand up, revealing myself, my hiding place, and Amos when he follows me towards my Mama.

I am tired of sneaking around.

I have had enough of secrets.

Now that she stands alone in the clearing, she looks more vulnerable than before, more like the Mama that I know. Her dress has smudges of dirt on it and the strong sunlight makes the sweat on her forehead shine. It casts deep shadows over her face, emphasising each small crease or wrinkle in her skin.

"Cass, what are you doin'?" She demands, but she doesn't sound annoyed. She hugs me. She smells of mud and wet grass. "Hello, Amos."

I glance over my shoulder and take in Amos's startled expression. He frowns, slowly, squinting at my Mama like she's a plant that he's trying hard to remember the name of. I am surprised, too. I look at Mama. How does she know about Amos? As far as I'm concerned, she shouldn't know anything about him because I've never told her.

I embrace her again, as if holding her for a long time would bring us closer together so that all of her secrets, which are tearing me apart, could be unfolded. Her secrets, and my secrets, too.

I just need a few moments of honesty.

"Sorry I were spyin'," I say.

"You don't need to apologise." And her response has left her mouth so quickly that I can feel both of our voices hanging in the air, together.

She places her hands on my shoulders and my curiosity is met by her seriousness.

"Spying's a bad thing less you done it for a good purpose," she explains. "An' your purpose was good enough."

I don't say anything.

"You want to know what I was doing, talking to that stranger?" She asks.

I nod, feeling slightly uncomfortable.

"You, too?" She says to Amos. He shrugs.

And that's when two gunshots sound, loud and clear in my ears. Mama seizes my arm, lurching me into a run.

She's dragging me forwards and suddenly I'm sprinting as fast as I can.

"Amos!" I shout. I turn my head and am relieved to see him hurrying behind us, his face panic-stricken and slick with sweat.

I hear another gunshot, and its closer than before. I scream. The muscles in my legs are aching. I need to rest. I can't go on.

My feet stop moving for only a second before Mama pulls my arm, urging me onwards.

Yet another gunshot.

"Keep running!" Mama yells. I'm focusing on the ground ahead of me. I'm trying hard not to fall, but I'm tripping over roots and my feet are sliding around in the mud.

Amos is stumbling beside me. Mama's elbow knocks into mine.

Keep running. Keep running. The stifling heat blurs my vision. I concentrate on where I'm headed, on the trees at the end of my sight.

My lungs beg for air. Drops of sweat fall away from my eyebrows. My head wrap slips down over my eyes. I push it back into place. My legs threaten to collapse.

We reach the fence and Mama helps me over it. She guides Amos across after me. When we are all on the ground inside the Plantation, we finally stop fleeing. I fall to my knees in the dirt. My gasps shake my entire body.

Amos crouches beside me, his head between his knees.

Mama's eyes are closed. She sits against the fence, panting hard.

"What was that?" I choke.

"I don't...know," Mama says, and I can hear the effort taken just to force out those words.

I stand up shakily and pull Mama to her feet with as much strength as I can muster. Then I turn to help Amos.

He is still crouched on the ground, his head cradled in his arms.

I kneel beside him, put my arm around his shoulders.

"Amos?" I say quietly.

He lifts his head to look at me. His eyes are wide and full of fear.

Faint gunshots sound in the distance. He shudders.

"Amos?" I say again. He doesn't respond. I look at Mama desperately. "What's happened to 'im?"

"It's the sound of war," she explains. "It's brought back memories for him."

I haul him to his feet. He leans on me as we walk along the field. Tears streak his cheeks.

"You's ok here," I say as convincingly as I can. "You's safe now."

If he heard my words, he didn't react. I look at him and imagine a metal sheet just inside his ears, blocking my voice from getting through to his brain.

"Can't he even talk?" I ask Mama.

"He'll be ok, Cass. Jus' give him some time to get over the shock."

"But can he hear me?"

"I don't know, Cass."

His grip on my arm is firm. His fingernails dig into my skin but I don't mind the pain.

I lead him to his cabin while Mama returns to ours. Slaves, young and old, crowd around the door.

"What happen?" They ask.