Mind Of A Slave

He Can Sing

DAWN ARRIVES WITH pastel colours sewn into the sky. I watch the pinks and oranges slowly turn blue and enjoy the freedom, the lack of necessity to start work so early in the morning, the lack of necessity to do anything.

Amos isn't beside me when I wake, which alarms me for a second until I see him washing his clothes on the other side of the pond. He rings the shirt he's holding and spreads it out on a rock under the sun. His tattered shoes have been thrown on the ground beside him and he splashes towards me with bare feet.

As he wades through the water, I notice that the sun shines down on his body, defining his toned abdomen and casting a soft bronze glow over his skin.

He reaches the bank on which I sit and flicks a drop of water at me.

I splash him back playfully. He grabs hold of my forearm and pulls me into the pond. His hands fumble with my shirt and he lifts it over my head. The water is cold and pure against my naked skin. The mud under me is soft.

He holds my forearms and presses his chin on my shoulder, fondly kissing the side of my neck. I pull him closer and stroke his slippery brown curls with my hand.

"Did you sleep good?" he asks.

"Yeah, you got breakfast?"

"It's all ready."

I laugh. "That's too kin' a you."

I climb out of the pond and put on my shirt. We walk to the tree, where he's laid out the rest of the stolen food, and we sit down in the shade to eat.

"So... we's gone leave today," he says. His eyebrows are arched like he's anticipating that I'll change my mind. But I won't. We have to leave sometime, so it might as well be today.

"Yeah."

"The others can't a gone far."

I do a quick calculation in my head, attempting to figure out how many miles they might have travelled.

"It ain't gone be easy to fin' 'em," I say. "We don't knows where they's headed."

"It can't be too difficult."

I don't reply because it can be difficult. It would be really, really hard to find the group. We don't know where they are now or what route they've taken. Jack only said they were going to wherever the road takes them.

What if the road splits? Which path did they take?

We finish breakfast and return to the cabins to find we're the only people awake. It makes sense. Nobody else would wake up this early if they didn't have to.

I drink some water from the well and then Amos and I sit together until the others begin to wake up.

Soon Beckey approaches us with a man I've never met before. I notice that they're holding hands, his rough spotted fingers wrapped around her smooth ones. The man carries a banjo slung around his shoulder.

As they sit down on the grass next to us, he positions it in his lap and begins to strum gently.

I recognize the song at once; it's a classic tune. Everyone knows it. Beckey hums as the man plays on, swaying to the music.

I watch the man's hand. His fingers move back and forth so quickly they blur together. Its amazing how such a small movement can create such a beautiful sound.

We all start to sing at the same time, our voices melting together to form one strong sound filled with power and hope.

By the time the song ends a crowd has gathered, and we arrange ourselves in a circle, all clapping and singing together.

The man starts to play a new song. Few people know it.

"It's an ol' tune, one my Mama used t'sing when I were a young boy," he says.

"I knows it." Amos turns to the man with a look of determination. "I knows it real good."

The song commences with two soft, harmonic chords. There's a pause and then Amos starts to sing. His rich voice shuts every mouth and spreads astonishment across every face.

He can sing.

It's like the words flow from some heavenly place deep inside him, where sounds I never thought I'd hear can spawn.

He closes his eyes, as if the music has begun to control him, and his voice is deep and clear... magical.

And suddenly everything seems fine the way it is. I am not hungry and tired. I am well-fed and lively and healthy. I am content. And for a moment I believe that life is perfect.

Just for a moment.