Read Online Respectable Trade by Philippa Gregory - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Philippa Gregory
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into the hold, he went without looking back. When they chained him back on a strangely empty shelf, he held his hands out for the manacles on his wrists like a foolish, trusting child.
A great longing for his home, so painful that he thought he would die of it, sickened him to his very core. He lay in the darkness, refusing to open his eyes, refusing to take food. The little group was kept together in the hold, twenty of them. Two other men were manacled with leg irons like himself chained on the shelf, and five women with neck irons and long chains so that they could move more freely but not reach the men. The smallest children were allowed to go free; two of them could barely walk. The other children aged from four years to adolescence wore light chains from wrist to wrist and ankle to ankle.
One of the women called to Mehuru to eat, but he turned his head from her and closed his eyes. The smallest toddler struggled through the slurry that washed around the floor to bring him a bowl. Mehuru saw fresh fruit—the first he had seen in the long two months of the voyage—but he did not allow himself desire. He would not eat. He had been robbed of his home, he had been robbed of his people. He had been robbed of his servant and robbed of his duty to provide for him. He had been robbed of his life. He would live no more.
Days passed, and still the ship did not sail. They were ordered on deck and made to build a little shelter against the sun. They were kept there like hens in a pen, lying on straw. They labored below to clean out the mess of two hundred men, stalled like animals for nearly sixty days. They baled out the excrement and the filth, and then the master of the ship went below with his handkerchief over his face and lit pastilles of camphor, which smoked all day and all night and still could not drown the stench.
Mehuru would not speak. He ate a little rice every day and drank some of the fresh, sweet water. When the women askedhis name or the men touched his hand in companionship and shared mourning, he turned his head away. Nothing should tie him to life.
The sailors lived on board and worked during the day, loading the ship and making it ready for another voyage. They had long idle periods when they came and took the women away. The women came back bruised and sometimes bloodstained, with their heads in their hands. Mehuru, chained hand and foot, turned his head from the horror in their faces.
One woman did not come back at all, and after that the sailors were forbidden to touch them. The small children missed her; she had played with them and fed them and sung them songs. Without her they were a bit more lost. One little girl sat beside Mehuru for the greater part of every day and banged her head gently against the deck. Mehuru lay with his eyes shut, the deck echoing beneath his head like a drum to the steady thud of the girl’s head against the planks.
The master came back on board, and the ship was ready to sail, only half loaded with large kegs of sugar and rum. The little girl disappeared; they took her away one day, but still Mehuru could hear the thud thud thud of her head on wood. It beat like a heart, it drummed like an accusation.
He closed his eyes and refused to eat rice. He drank only water. He felt himself floating away. There was none of the right things that an obalawa should have around him, and he could not warn his fathers that he would need their help in crossing over. He thought his tree that held his spirit had bent in some storm and was perhaps breaking, and he prayed for it to fall so that his spirit might flow out of it and he might die.
Mehuru readied himself to join the ones who had to die sitting down with their eyes staring out into the darkness. He feared he would not find his fathers, dying thus. Only the god Snake had seen him, with his huge, shiny eyes, and would know where his son had been stolen far away across the great seas.
C HAPTER
4
J OSIAH CAME INTO HIS house for
A great longing for his home, so painful that he thought he would die of it, sickened him to his very core. He lay in the darkness, refusing to open his eyes, refusing to take food. The little group was kept together in the hold, twenty of them. Two other men were manacled with leg irons like himself chained on the shelf, and five women with neck irons and long chains so that they could move more freely but not reach the men. The smallest children were allowed to go free; two of them could barely walk. The other children aged from four years to adolescence wore light chains from wrist to wrist and ankle to ankle.
One of the women called to Mehuru to eat, but he turned his head from her and closed his eyes. The smallest toddler struggled through the slurry that washed around the floor to bring him a bowl. Mehuru saw fresh fruit—the first he had seen in the long two months of the voyage—but he did not allow himself desire. He would not eat. He had been robbed of his home, he had been robbed of his people. He had been robbed of his servant and robbed of his duty to provide for him. He had been robbed of his life. He would live no more.
Days passed, and still the ship did not sail. They were ordered on deck and made to build a little shelter against the sun. They were kept there like hens in a pen, lying on straw. They labored below to clean out the mess of two hundred men, stalled like animals for nearly sixty days. They baled out the excrement and the filth, and then the master of the ship went below with his handkerchief over his face and lit pastilles of camphor, which smoked all day and all night and still could not drown the stench.
Mehuru would not speak. He ate a little rice every day and drank some of the fresh, sweet water. When the women askedhis name or the men touched his hand in companionship and shared mourning, he turned his head away. Nothing should tie him to life.
The sailors lived on board and worked during the day, loading the ship and making it ready for another voyage. They had long idle periods when they came and took the women away. The women came back bruised and sometimes bloodstained, with their heads in their hands. Mehuru, chained hand and foot, turned his head from the horror in their faces.
One woman did not come back at all, and after that the sailors were forbidden to touch them. The small children missed her; she had played with them and fed them and sung them songs. Without her they were a bit more lost. One little girl sat beside Mehuru for the greater part of every day and banged her head gently against the deck. Mehuru lay with his eyes shut, the deck echoing beneath his head like a drum to the steady thud of the girl’s head against the planks.
The master came back on board, and the ship was ready to sail, only half loaded with large kegs of sugar and rum. The little girl disappeared; they took her away one day, but still Mehuru could hear the thud thud thud of her head on wood. It beat like a heart, it drummed like an accusation.
He closed his eyes and refused to eat rice. He drank only water. He felt himself floating away. There was none of the right things that an obalawa should have around him, and he could not warn his fathers that he would need their help in crossing over. He thought his tree that held his spirit had bent in some storm and was perhaps breaking, and he prayed for it to fall so that his spirit might flow out of it and he might die.
Mehuru readied himself to join the ones who had to die sitting down with their eyes staring out into the darkness. He feared he would not find his fathers, dying thus. Only the god Snake had seen him, with his huge, shiny eyes, and would know where his son had been stolen far away across the great seas.
C HAPTER
4
J OSIAH CAME INTO HIS house for
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