he was showing me. Most of what he said I didn't understand, but that didn't matter; I stored it all away thinking that one day it would all make sense.
John led me back to the path where we met that after noon. We went off about two hundred yards into the shrubs and bushes until we came to a big elm. There was a recess like a cave in the side of the tree and from there John pulled out a shiny yellow sack that was about the size of a carpet bag. He rummaged around in the bag until he came out with three small tubes that were like glass except they were soft. Then he returned the yellow bag to its hiding place.
A carpetbag was a small suitcase that traveling salesmen and government officials used when traveling around the country. It was large enough for an extra suit of clothes and whatever other necessities one might need, such as writing paper, a razor, and maybe a little food.
"Come on," he said, and we headed back to the road and then toward the slave quarters.
"What is that you stoled, Tall John?" I asked as we went back up to our cabin.
"I haven't stolen a thing," he replied. "These are mine and yours."
"A slave don't even own his clothes, boy," I said, repeat ing words that I had heard my entire life. "He don't even own his own body."
"No one owns their clothes, Forty-seven," Tall John said, "nor their bodies. These things are just borrowed for a while. It is only the mind that you truly own."
"Says what?" I asked.
"And," the strange boy continued, "if no one owns even their own clothes how can they possess another?"
"So you savin' that Master Tobias don't own his black leather boots?" I asked.
"Every single particle in the whole wide universe is re sponsible for its role in the unfolding of the Great Mind." "What's that s'posed t'mean?" I asked. "It means that if you stick your hand in a fire and burn yourself that you are the one responsible for the pain," John said. "It means that if a man calls you slave and you nod your head that you have made yourself a slave." "Are you crazy, niggah?" I said.
He stopped and turned, pointed his elegant finger at me
under moonlight, and said, "Neither master nor nigger be."
A sudden scurrying came up behind him and I could
see Master Tobias's bloodhounds coming fast. They were bounding at us under a sickly lunar glow.
My breath caught and John turned around. When he saw the dogs bearing down on him he fell to his knees. I figured that he lost all of his arrogance and was now kneel ing before the Almighty in the moment of his death. I would have knelt down too but my faith wasn't so strong. I was trying to get my legs to run when the dogs leapt on John. He put out his hands and I thought that they were biting his fingers until I realized that they were licking him all over like he was their long lost mama come home to suckle and love them.
He cooed to them in a language that I couldn't under stand. One by one they fell on their backs and exposed their bellies for him to scratch and thump.
"Come over here and meet my new friends, Forty- seven," he said.
"Nuh-uh," I said. "No, suh."
"Come on," he insisted. "These dogs won't bite you."
One of the vicious hounds got up and came over to me. When she licked my fingers I started to laugh. After a while the dogs, John, and I were scampering around the yard, playing as freely as little white kids under the moon-cast shadow of the Master's mansion.
After a long while John bade good-bye to the dogs and led me back to the slave cabin.
Once inside John slapped his hands together on one of
the three glass tubes he stole. This covered his hands with a thick clear paste that he rubbed into the brand that Pritchard had burned into my shoulder. It felt cool against my skin and the pain that still lingered from the burn went away.
John returned the lantern to its place and snuffed out the flame. We got back on the cot and put the shackles around our ankles. Then he gave me the two soft-glass tubes to hold, one in each
John led me back to the path where we met that after noon. We went off about two hundred yards into the shrubs and bushes until we came to a big elm. There was a recess like a cave in the side of the tree and from there John pulled out a shiny yellow sack that was about the size of a carpet bag. He rummaged around in the bag until he came out with three small tubes that were like glass except they were soft. Then he returned the yellow bag to its hiding place.
A carpetbag was a small suitcase that traveling salesmen and government officials used when traveling around the country. It was large enough for an extra suit of clothes and whatever other necessities one might need, such as writing paper, a razor, and maybe a little food.
"Come on," he said, and we headed back to the road and then toward the slave quarters.
"What is that you stoled, Tall John?" I asked as we went back up to our cabin.
"I haven't stolen a thing," he replied. "These are mine and yours."
"A slave don't even own his clothes, boy," I said, repeat ing words that I had heard my entire life. "He don't even own his own body."
"No one owns their clothes, Forty-seven," Tall John said, "nor their bodies. These things are just borrowed for a while. It is only the mind that you truly own."
"Says what?" I asked.
"And," the strange boy continued, "if no one owns even their own clothes how can they possess another?"
"So you savin' that Master Tobias don't own his black leather boots?" I asked.
"Every single particle in the whole wide universe is re sponsible for its role in the unfolding of the Great Mind." "What's that s'posed t'mean?" I asked. "It means that if you stick your hand in a fire and burn yourself that you are the one responsible for the pain," John said. "It means that if a man calls you slave and you nod your head that you have made yourself a slave." "Are you crazy, niggah?" I said.
He stopped and turned, pointed his elegant finger at me
under moonlight, and said, "Neither master nor nigger be."
A sudden scurrying came up behind him and I could
see Master Tobias's bloodhounds coming fast. They were bounding at us under a sickly lunar glow.
My breath caught and John turned around. When he saw the dogs bearing down on him he fell to his knees. I figured that he lost all of his arrogance and was now kneel ing before the Almighty in the moment of his death. I would have knelt down too but my faith wasn't so strong. I was trying to get my legs to run when the dogs leapt on John. He put out his hands and I thought that they were biting his fingers until I realized that they were licking him all over like he was their long lost mama come home to suckle and love them.
He cooed to them in a language that I couldn't under stand. One by one they fell on their backs and exposed their bellies for him to scratch and thump.
"Come over here and meet my new friends, Forty- seven," he said.
"Nuh-uh," I said. "No, suh."
"Come on," he insisted. "These dogs won't bite you."
One of the vicious hounds got up and came over to me. When she licked my fingers I started to laugh. After a while the dogs, John, and I were scampering around the yard, playing as freely as little white kids under the moon-cast shadow of the Master's mansion.
After a long while John bade good-bye to the dogs and led me back to the slave cabin.
Once inside John slapped his hands together on one of
the three glass tubes he stole. This covered his hands with a thick clear paste that he rubbed into the brand that Pritchard had burned into my shoulder. It felt cool against my skin and the pain that still lingered from the burn went away.
John returned the lantern to its place and snuffed out the flame. We got back on the cot and put the shackles around our ankles. Then he gave me the two soft-glass tubes to hold, one in each
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