The slaves of Freetown

CHAPTER TEN

My bag slips off my shoulders, falling to the floor next to my sneakers. I climb onto the right bunk bed where Isaac used to sleep, to get away from my brother. I turn around on the thin mattress to find a comfortable position, without success. Eyes wide open, I look at the paint peeling off the ceiling, revealing some mold.

I try to close my eyes; however, every time I do, I imagine Mistress Salvi's. I think about that pool of blood, much wider in my memory. So I open them and start over. I fear, for a moment, that I will never be able to sleep again, but it is with a start that I raise my head from the bed, the room completely plunged into darkness. At the same time, the door opens, revealing Imane's face. She flips the switch, and I cover my eyes.

"Sorry to wake you up like that, but dad was worried not hearing from you. He wants you to eat and take this medicine before leaving. He insists as he almost lost, in the negotiations with the Activist, a promised scholarship for Cedric to get you these."

She puts the tablet on the table.

"What time is it?" I ask in a hoarse voice.

"Eight o'clock. You slept all day long. Did you not hear Ho-Jin get up? He came to say goodbye to dad as we were setting up the table for the new slave-prisoners' and cheaters' dinner. He said he was going to put himself at the service of his Mistress earlier for this week. I believe that with the distribution of the enfranchisement scholarship approaching, he wants to appear devout."

I get out of bed to take her in my arms.

"Kanoa..." she says, embarrassed.

"I know, I am sorry," I reply, moving away.

"Do you want to join the cheaters for dinner? We wanted to eat with them, for their first night back in Freetown."

"I will do like Ho-Jin. I will eat something quickly and go meet my Master or Mistress."

"Okay... If we do not see each other in the meantime, have a good week."

"Be... careful, Imane," I whisper, trying to stick to the exchange script that we usually have at this moment of Sunday.

"Do not worry; I already had the opportunity to serve my Weekmaster. He's rather... kind. You should be careful," she says, pointing at my eye, which is still puffy.

She is about to leave the room.

"Kanoa... are you sure that you are okay? I mean, I feel like... I have not talked to you lately, we have not been discussing really, yet I hear low masses all around me, coming from you, Ho-Jin, Mohamed, who for a few weeks, have been angry against each other all the time... but if you had a problem, would you come see me? Like we always do?"

I nod, another knot forming in my throat. The door closes on her smiling face, but I guess she is not fooled this time. To her, I should never lie, dissimulate. Now, I am completely alone.

Not being able to swallow anything, I go to rinse my face again before taking the file, which bears my name and my slave number. The bread was cut in half, but nothing was eaten from it. I ignore the pills that Imane brought, as a punishment, perhaps. I want to stay very conscious of my thoughts; the culpability keeps my sense on alert, giving me a reassuring impression of justice.

The folder's first page contains information about me since my Mistress, a certain Sky Freeman, receives the same document. Freeman... (///I turn the page on a sheet shorter than mine, about my Mistress. There is also a letter that I do not have the strength to read.

Taking care of slaves, being served by them, being a Master or a Mistress, is a civic duty just as well as being a jury member in a criminal case or paying taxes. Nevertheless, the New York City Hall is trying to make the situation as normal, and as human as possible, by making the Masters write silly letters to introduce themselves. Most of those documents are not fascinating, do not say much, almost like a fake profile and embellished biography on Facebook or Instagram. The Masters prove to be much less sympathetic than advertised, and much more demanding. Those who lived in beautiful neighborhoods like this Mistress Sky Freeman, accustomed to being taking care of, do not even bother to meet the slaves in question and delegate the task to their other employees.