He sighed in the darkness but made no words that I could understand. John's weakness set off a great trepidation in my heart. I believed that only he could understand the freedom that I had just come to realize. Without him I would be as lost as he was on the ocean called Universe.
"John, how can I help you?"
"Touch…"
"What?"
"Touch my head… with your hands," he said.
I reached out and felt around until I could feel the pulse in his temples. One beat, two beats, three beats, four… and then there came a bright yellow light that filled our foul cell. I could see John sagging down in his chains with his eyes closed and his breath coming fast and short like the panting of a winded dog.
Then I was gone from the tomb and free from my bonds. John and I were sitting side by side in crudely built rocking chairs out in front of a small, ramshackle cabin that stood on a rise looking down over a pine forest. There were larks singing and fat clouds floating in the blue sky overhead. John was there next to me.
At first I thought that I had swooned and fallen into a dream.
"No," Tall John from beyond Africa said, answering my thought. "You are not dreaming. We are here together in our minds."
"Where are we?" I asked John. "I don't know. Don't you recognize this place?" Suddenly I realized that we were in front of Britisher Bill's place; a cabin that Una Turner's father had given to the slave, Britisher Bill, when he earned his freedom. I used to go there with Big Mama Flore and Mud Albert when I was very small. Master Tobias would send us with a basket of food that the old master had promised to deliver to Britisher Bill every fourth Sunday for the rest of his life.
Flore and Albert would walk hand in hand and every once in a while they'd stop and Flore would kiss Albert's cheek. Once they sat on a log and hugged for such a long time that I got bored and asked them when we were going to leave.
"How did you know about Britisher Bill's cabin?" I asked John.
"I didn't," he said, "the memory is in your mind." Britisher Bill appeared in my mind then. He was older than Mud Albert by far and he spoke in an accent that people said was English. The old master had gone to Jamaica long ago and purchased Bill for his personal manservant. He became so fond of the slave that he brought him back to the Corinthian.
"But," I said, shaking the image of Bill from my mind, "if you too weak t'work your magic then how did we get here?"
"The power is in your mind, Forty-seven. Your mind brought us here. I merely showed you the way."
"So can my mind bring us water an' food?" I asked. " 'Cause you know I sho am hungry an' thirsty too."
John leaned back in his rocker and sighed.
"You could imagine eating chicken," he said, and somewhere I heard the cackle of a hen, "but when we go back to our chains you will be all the more hungry."
"So we ain't got aloose from the Tomb?" I asked. "We just daydreamin'?"
"Don't you like it better here than in that hot cell?" I looked around at the peaceful yard and the forest beyond and thought, Yes, this is better than chains.
"Back there," John said. "I'm almost dead. I wouldn't be able to give you my last words, my council."
"You not gonna die, John," I protested, but in my heart I feared his words were true.
"I should have listened to you, Forty-seven," he said. "I am well over three thousand years old and so I thought a boy of fourteen couldn't tell me anything. I was so sure that I could master Tobias just as he had mastered you. My pride was my downfall and now I have put the entire universe in jeopardy."
"You cain't be worried 'bout no universe when we in trouble right now in the Tomb," I scolded.
"Right again, Forty-seven. I can feel my mind fading. I must tell you what you need to know before I pass on to the Upper Level. Listen closely.
"I had intended to give you guidance and power with which you could fight against Wall and keep him from his mad plan. Now it's too late for that. I will die in Tobias's chains but you may yet survive. If you do I want you to find my yellow bag and study its contents. Certain items therein will speak to you "
"Things gonna talk to me like them oil seeds you use for healin'?"
"You will see something," John said patiently, nodding slightly as if he were tired and soon to fall asleep. "And after a while you will have a nagging feeling at the back of your mind. And soon you will know how to go about using that thing."
I noticed that the sun was setting. This was odd because when we first came to Britisher Bill's cabin, only a few minutes before, it was high noon.
"Time is running out for me," Tall John sighed. "I was arrogant. I didn't listen to our hero."
"You not gonna die, John," I whined. "We gonna both make it through this. You just tired, that's all. You just sleepy. If Tobias meant to kill us he'da send us to Mr. Stewart's killin' shack. All you gotta do is sleep an' build up yo' strength. Tomorrow he'll prob'ly send us back to the slave quarters. You'll see."
I helped John out of the rocking chair and laid him out on the ground.
He smiled at me and said, "So you forgive me for delivering you into Tobias's hands?"
"Ain't nuthin' to forgive," I said. "It was me wanted t'come back. It's my fault we here."
Hearing this John smiled and then fell into a deep sleep. As he closed his eyes the sun set on Britisher Bill's cabin. In the darkness the pine forest and the sky faded, becoming the close walls of our cell. The scent of pine was replaced by the odor of human suffering. As the darkness descended I realized that our cell might be an actual tomb for both of us.
When the night came the heat didn't let up and even the little light that had filtered in with the sun was gone. I came awake, lamenting my sad fate. There I was chained by my ankles with no water or food, dying. And what had I done wrong? I had helped to save the master's daughter. I had come back home even though it meant a life of slavery.
"Numbah Twelve?" came a voice from outside of our
hotbox.
"Eighty-four?" I answered.
"Is Johnny in there wit'you, Forty-seven?" she asked through the door.
"Yeah but he out. It's 'cause'a no watah I think."
"I brought you an' him some watah an' two apples," she said. "Mud Albert sneaked out an' unchained me an' give me this here from Flore."
And with that the food slot opened. I could feel the cool breeze of night coming in through there. She handed through a small water skin and two apples. Because my hands were free I was able to reach out and take her gifts.
"Tell him that I be prayin' for you. I sure will."
The girl that John called Tweenie closed the food slot and I held the jug to his lips. At the first taste of the water on his tongue he made a sound in his throat and roused. I held the cup to his lips until he drank every drop.
When he realized that he'd finished the water he asked, "Did you drink already?"
"Yeah," I lied. I figured that he needed the water more than I did and, anyway, the fruit that Eighty-four gave us had water in it too.
We each ate an apple. I devoured mine, core and all.
This is another moment that I have to stop and explain the crazy contradiction of the pain of slavery. Those apples certainly weren't the best that I've ever eaten. I have traveled, in my many years, near and far across America and beyond. I have eaten the most delicious fruits that our rich soil has to offer. But that mealy little apple that Eighty-four fed us in our prison was the sweetest, most delicious thing that I've ever tasted. No great meal of succulent pork and sweet potatoes could ever be so satisfying. That's because we were starving. We were near death. And those small spotted fruit contained the taste of salvation.
In the morning the door to our cell was opened and we were dragged out into the light of day. All around the yard stood the field slaves, in chains. The house slaves were also there Fred Chocolate, Big Mama Flore, Nola, and the rest of the servants. Sitting on fences and wagons all around were Mr. Stewart and a dozen or so white riflemen. Dead center of the yard was a huge wagon wheel leaned up against a hay wagon.