I would go to Stonehill, as promised, and there confess everything. I would plead her forgiveness and promise to provide the child a home, if that were necessary. Nothing would be more difficult than to lay this at her feet, yet tonight I had seen the suffering that my deceit had caused her.
A party of older women who had come early to assess the banquet were now staring at me. When I noted their attention with a nod, their fans flew open and they began to whisper. I needed no further encouragement to quietly depart.
CHAPTER EIGHT
March 1830
Pan
FRIDAY MORNING I slip out and head on down to the docks. I’m scared to go, because if my daddy finds out, I don’t know what he do.
The last time I talk to my daddy about going down to the ships, him and me was sitting downstream by his creek, catching us some fish. Nobody fries fish up like my daddy, and I tell him so. It’s a good day when he can sit quiet—some days he’s too jumpy and can’t stop looking over his shoulder for his old masta.
“You growin’ up, son,” he says after I see him take a quick look at me. “But you never gon’ be a strong one. It good you learnin’ to work a big house for the white folk.”
“You think I’m big enough now to go see those ships?” I ask, and Daddy gives me a look that means business.
“When I tells you to stay away from down there, I means that you stay away!” he says.
“Then how about you take me there?” I ask.
“Boy, you never gon’ find me goin’ close to that place. There some slave catchers that come up from the Carolinas and Georgia that get hold a you, tie you up on a boat, and take you back down, sell you for a slave. Nope, you and me got no business never goin’ down there!” he says.
“If they’d take us, we’d just tell them we’re free, Daddy.”
“Once they got you, talk don’ do you no good.”
“I’m not afraid of them,” I say. “They ever get hold of me, I can write to Mr. Burton, tell him to come get me.”
I don’t see his hand coming, and it catches me on the back of my head. He clips me so hard, everything spins. I grab hold of my head and can’t talk ’cause I’m trying not to cry. He never hit me like that before, and I stand up ’cause it’s no fun fishin’ no more.
“Why did you hit me?” I ask, rubbing at my head. “Mama always said nobody should hit nobody else!”
He gets up, too, but he looks so mad that he’s scarin’ me and I take some steps back. “There’s plenty more where that come from if I ever find out you go down there!” he says.
I got nothing to say, so I sit down again and go to pick up my fishin’ pole, but I’m glad Robert makes me carry a handkerchief, because I got to blow my nose when I’m crying.
Daddy walks around for a while, then comes back and sits down, and I see his hands are shakin’ when he picks up his pole. When I look up, I see his chin wobblin’, like maybe he’s gonna cry. I don’t know what else to do, so I reach over and pat at his arm. “I don’t mean no harm, Daddy. I always do like you say.”
“Long as you don’ go down there!” he says. “You don’ never want to get took for a slave.”
“What was it like, being a slave? Why won’t you never tell me about it?” I ask.
He looks over the water, then all at once he sets his pole down and turns so I can see when he holds up both his hands to wiggle what’s left of his thumbs. “This what they do to a slave,” he said. “They cut you up in lil pieces.”
Looking at his thumbs like that gives me chicken skin. “Why didn’t you get out of there sooner?”
“Because I had a mama and a lil brother.”
“What happened to your mama?” I ask.
“You don’ want to know,” he says, “you don’ want to know!” With his hand he start pounding on his leg.
“You gonna hurt yourself like that,” I say, reaching for his hand to stop him. “Don’t do that.”
He looks down where I’m holdin’ his hand and then looks right into my face, something he never likes to do. His eyes look so scared that I’m glad when his pole starts jumping because I don’t want him talkin’ about being a slave no more.
“Let’s just catch some fish, Daddy,” I say, and we do.
THE SUN IS bright when I start out early in the day. Most of the snow is melted and I don’t wear my big coat because I don’t think I’ll be needin’ it. I won’t be gone that long. I’m goin’ down to the boats just once to get Mr. Burton his bird, and I’m hopin’ my daddy don’t find out nothing about it.
Mr. Burton got a map of the city up on his library wall, and I study it good before I set out. I know how to get to Market Street and from there I head toward the docks. I keep walkin’ until finally, before I even get there, I hear the seagulls screechin’ and my nose is filled with the smell of fish and water. When I go past the men sellin’ fish, my heart starts poundin’ because I know I should turn around, but I tell myself not to be a baby. I start to think I should a wore my warm coat because it’s cold down by the water, but I keep walkin’ when I see in front of me a boat tied up that is so big, it’s got to be ten times the size of Mr. Burton’s house.
On both sides of me is docks pointing out like fingers, and off them docks are boats lined up, one bigger than the next. At first I got to hold my ears for the noise. There is wagons and carts and men pitchin’ stacks of boxes and barrels and the workers are yellin’ to each other, one louder than the other, and the same thing is happenin’ up and down the river as far as I can see. Out on the water there is already some ships moving out, with their sails puffed like big bellies full of wind. I forget about being scared because there’s so much to see, and I move on in.
“Hey, you! Get outta the way!” I hear, and I almost get myself clipped when a wagon pulls up loaded with barrels. The driver stops his horses and hops down while men come over to unload his wagon. When they start workin’ he looks over at me. “What you lookin’ for boy?” he asks, none too friendly.
There’s a sweet smell that I can’t place. “What’s in those?” I ask.
“Best brandy you ever goin’ to taste,” he says. “Boys,” he tells his helpers, “I think we got someone here wantin’ to buy a barrel a brandy!” Some of them laugh like they know somethin’ I don’t. The driver looks at me. “Hey, you got no business down here. You best get on home.”
“But I come down here to buy a parrot,” I say.
“You what?” he asks.
“I want to get a bird,” I say. “Do you know where they sell birds?”
“Boys!” he calls out. “Any of you know where to find a bird?” One of the men laughs and points toward the seagulls that shriek and swoop down and around our heads. “Take as many as you want!” he yells, and this time they all laugh, but one of the men stops before he picks up a barrel. “You looking for those parrot types? Sometimes they bring them in down the line.” He points forward. “Down a ways there’s a tavern called Dockside. Go on in there. They’ll tell you where they bring them in.”
The driver jumps back up on his wagon. “Go on now. Get outta here before you get run over!” he says, and I have to jump out of his way when he swings his horses around.
Even though I got to walk a long time, I find the tavern easy enough, and I’m standin’ outside wonderin’ what to do when two men come pushin’ out the door. The bigger one almost falls over me.
“Hey, boy, outta my way!” His face is burned red, and his yellow mustache, curled on each side like half a moon, moves when he talks.
“Sorry,” I say, movin’ back.
“You dressed fine for a nigga boy,” he says. “What you doin’ down here?”
“I want to buy a parrot,” I say. “One that talks.”
“You looking for a parrot, you say?” He looks around. “Where’s your daddy?” He pulls a knife out from his belt and starts to cut at a fingernail.
“He works out of town,” I say, wonderin’ why he wants to know about my daddy.
“And your mama?” he asks. “She down here with you?”
“My mama pass on,” I say, but after that something doesn’t sit right the way the two men look at each other. I take a few steps back, thinkin’ it’s time to leave.
“Hey, where you goin’?” the man with the knife asks.
“I got to go home,” I say.
“Didn’t you say you was lookin’ for a bird?”