Woman Overboard

Chapter 3 : Doll (1)

Afiba

August 21st, 1820

(12:17 PM)

The Elizabeth had become a fiery inferno of death. Afiba could hardly see through the thick sheets of smoke, and breathing became a challenge.

"Brookes crew!" she cried. "Abandon ship! Abandon th' goddamn ship! Off, off!"

She had found Edwin, who rushed to the poop deck to find Nia. Jaiye and Hany, he said, were below deck, scavenging in the cabins. Afiba now had to weave her way through skirmishes and duels, rung with fire and smoke, to find the stairs leading below.

Admittedly, she had no desire to go down. All over, decks collapsed and wood caved in. She could imagine Hany lying dormant on an ashen floor, her skull split open by a fallen beam.

As much as she wanted to avoid that fate herself, the image restored her energy. Taking a gulp of fresh air, Afiba launched herself into the stairwell, yelling, "Hany! Jaiye! Get out, get out! It ain't safe down here, ye hear? Git!"

She ran down the hall, imagining the footfalls of the white men on this same carpet. Soon, she knew, they would flood The Brookes and their feet would fall where hers once had. She shuddered, refusing to think about it any farther.

Taonga had offered to come round up the troops, but Afiba had said she'd do it herself. She knew if she stayed with those self righteous fools for one more moment, she'd combust on anger or, worse yet, explode into sobs.

When they looked at her, she felt the same burn of panic she always had when the overseer drove by, that same implied inferiority and inadequacy that took root in her each time the noble ladies cast a glance her way.

And if she remembered these feelings, she also had to remember the sharp sting of the whip on her back, the heart wrenching cry of her mother the day her father was taken to be sold in Virginia, and her sister's tears as she trudged toward a day of fresh torture in the fields.

"Afi? That you?"

Jaiye's voice pulled her out of her thoughts. Afiba stopped, calling out, "Where are you?"

"Righ' here." Jaiye's head appeared from behind a door, his face alight with excitement. "Yeezus, Afi! This place's a gold mine. They got e'er thing down here."

Afiba rushed toward him, grabbing his arms. "That's good," she said, "But you gotta get outta here before th' ceilin' collapses, a'ight? Go!"

"Right," said Jaiye, panic reappearing on his face. "Wait, where's Hany?"

"Oh, don' worry 'bout her," Afiba insisted. "I'll find 'er. Go, okay? I'm righ' behind ye."

"Promise you'll get out quick?" Jaiye pulled her into a rushed hug, the potato sack, now full of stolen goods, clanking against Afiba's calf.

She nodded, pushing him away. "Go!"

He took off running, leaving Afiba to scour the remaining rooms for their young crewmate.

She could still remember Hany, twelve years old and stubborn as a mule, refusing to stay on the plantation the night they left. Afiba had growled and argued, but the girl wouldn't budge. "Fine," she had finally agreed, "But if you die, it ain't my fault."

Thus far, Hany had proven herself competent and even invaluable. She was good with maps and figures, as well as being adorable and a light to their sodden spirits. Even after the most obscene losses, she could be found laughing or dancing, simply delighted to be alive and free.

"Hany!" she cried. "C'mon, Han. It ain't safe down here!"

A voice reached her from down the hall. "Jus' another minute, I'll be out."

"Han!" Afiba sprinted down the hall, her mind reeling with fear. "Baby, you gotta get outta here, the roof's gonna collapse any min' now! Where are you?"

"In here," came her calm, quiet voice. It sounded from behind a door marked with the initials, D.B.

Afiba knocked it aside, shouting, "Whaddaya not understand 'bout get outta here, Hany? We gotta leave! This ain't safe, don' ye get it?"

The girl didn't respond. Afiba spotted her on the ground behind the tiny bed, kneeling in front of a giant wicker toy chest. Growling, she jumped over the bed and landed on the braided throw rug behind Hany, wondering how dumb her friend could be.

"Y'ello?" she said, giving Hany a sharp bonk to the head. "You hear me?"

"Oh, Afi," said the girl, her voice slow and awed. "Have you e'er seen anythin' so pretty?" In her arms, Hany cradled a porcelain doll, its pure white body covered in a lacy dress. She stroked the doll's painted cheek, trailing her finger over the lips and nose.

Afiba grunted, tugging at Hany's arm. "C'mon. We're going." But Hany wouldn't look away from the doll. "Take it," she said, shoving the doll's fragile form into the potato sack.

Hany let out a cry. "You're gonna break her!"

"Han!" Afiba exclaimed, yanking Hany to her feet. "Where's your head, girl? This ship's burnin' down, don' ye see that? We ain't got time for playin' with dolls!" She took a deep breath, running her thumb under Hany's leaking eye. "It's gonna be alright. Jus' come with me."

Afiba hooked her arm around Hany's waist, leading her away from the toy chest. Tears in her eyes, the girl whispered, "That li'l girl, Afi. The one you heard scream? This's gotta be her room."

"Oh, that ain't nothin' to cry about," Afiba assured her. "I seen that girl now, Han. She's alright."

Hany sniffed. "She is?"

Afiba thought of the burns snaking up the girl's limbs, the look of pure torture on her face when she had last seen her. "Yea," she assured her.

"Good."

"Can we get outta here, now?"

" 'Course."