Read Online In Darkness by Nick Lake - Free Book Online Page A

declare that my Master of Horse, who goes by the name of Toussaint, is henceforth, from this night of 8th of August 1791, free. Please accord him all the rights and liberties of a French subject.
     
    Stunned, Toussaint turned to the door, the paper rustling in his trembling hand.
    — You cannot declare it, he said.
    De Libertas had already gone into the dark chambers of the house, so Toussaint spoke to the wood of the door instead, and the iron nails.
    — You cannot declare it because I am already free. I am no one’s subject, French or otherwise.
    He stood still for a moment. So catastrophically did his old master seem to have misunderstood the enormity of what was happening that Toussaint could almost feel sorry for him. When you have been free, and then have been stolen and carried away to another country, you understand that things can change places. When you have always been master, this insight is closed to you.
    Just then, there came a great banging from downstairs. Toussaint went to the window and looked out to see more slaves massed there, weapons in their hands, the moonlight glancing off blades.
    Hurrying to the door, he paused and turned back to the sideboard. He folded down the writing slope, brushed his fingers underneath to find the hidden catch, and released the drawer containing the pistol. He was certain that de Libertas did not realize he knew of this hiding place – but a good slave knows his master. He checked that the pistol was loaded with shot and powder, then resumed his course out into the hallway.
    De Libertas was rushing to the stairs, breathless, a child under his arm. His mouth dropped open when he saw the gun and machete in his hands.
    — Toussaint, no . . . You said yourself that I’ve been good to you.
    — Be quiet, said Toussaint. Follow behind me. Appear meek. Hobble, if your pride can bear it. This country will be mine but, as you say, you’ve treated me well. I’ll get you out of it alive before it runs with blood.
    De Libertas paled as there came a splintering sound from below, and a yell of triumph from the mob. Fear twisted in Toussaint’s belly like a snake. He hoped Isaac was safe; hoped, too, that his son hadn’t joined the angry mob. He would not see his son killed, but he would not see him kill, either.
    As soon as I can , he thought, I’ll send Isaac away from here.
    — They’re your brothers, de Libertas said, gesturing to the door. They’ll kill you for resisting them.
    Toussaint smiled.
    — No, he said. That’s not my destiny.

Now
    I wake and open my eyes. And for a moment I panic.
    I’m blind.
    Then I remember the darkness. It’s strange, but it’s blacker with my eyes open. When they’re closed, I see the pulses and swirls of my blood, fireworks against my eyelids, and I remember this one time, when I was lying under the sun with my eyes closed, with Tintin nearby, floating on a rich man’s pool, drunk on stolen liquor.
    Only here, in the hospital, there is no sun.
    Here, when my eyes are open, I see nothing.
    The wound in my arm is itching. I’m thirsty again; my mouth is consuming me. Thinking of my mouth gives me a strange feeling and I remember that I had anpil dreams when I was sleeping, curious dreams in which I was Toussaint l’Ouverture and I was riding horses and clutching machetes and other weird shit. I think of Dread Wilmè cos it was Dread who first told me about Toussaint, the hero who freed the slaves and made Haiti independent. He was Biggie’s hero, too. Biggie loved Toussaint even more than Dread – he wouldn’t stop talking about him.
    Biggie, he was the general of Route 9, and before that he was the right-hand man of Dread Wilmè and a big dog in the Site. He did all the shit the government should have done in the slums. He funded the schools, provided security. He punished thieves and rapists.
    He sold drugs and killed people.
    He made me what I am today.
    I have not forgiven him for that, not yet.
    But Biggie, he knew about