Read Online The Book Of Negroes by Lawrence Hill - Free Book Online
Authors: Lawrence Hill
Tags: Fiction
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forests full of kola-nut traders.
To pass the time, since I was walking directly behind her, I watched the baby Aminata. When her head bounced around too much, I called out to Sanu to tie her up tighter. The baby had little tufts of softly curled hair at the back of her head, and I spent hours imagining how this little girl would someday grow her hair, comb it and braid it. For two days, I lost myself in daydreams while staring at the tiny baby bundled up close against her mother.
On the third day of walking after Aminata’s birth, the coffle slowed at the crest of a hill. Although the morning was still young, the sun was already hot. I took my eyes off the back of Aminata’s head and looked out at the world again.
What I saw seemed impossible.
Over to my right, where the path led, the river flowed fast and wide. It was wider than ten stone throws. At the shore of this angry river waited many canoes, each with eight rowers. I had never seen so many boats and rowers. To my left, the water expanded into eternity. It heaved and roared, lifted and dropped. It was green in some parts, blue in others, forever shifting and sliding and changing colour. It foamed at the mouth like a horse run too hard. To my left, water had taken over the world.
The captors led us to the shore. The toubab shouted directions as the captors released our yokes and shoved us into the middle of the canoes.It confused me to see them force Chekura into my canoe. The rowers were naked, other than loincloths, and they reeked of salt and sweat and dirt. Their muscles glistened in the sun. The canoes pulled smoothly over the water as the river widened, until I could not make out the details on the distant shore. As we left the land, a captive in the boat next to mine struggled to his feet, bellowed and rocked his canoe. Two huge oarsmen stopped rowing and bashed him mightily with their oars. Still he kept struggling. When the canoe began to pitch, they dropped their oars and quickly threw the captive out into the fast-moving waters. He thrashed and sank and was gone.
We were rowed through the morning. The sunlight reflected off the water and burned my eyes. The river widened so dreadfully that all I could see of the land was that it was mountainous to my left and flat to my right. Chekura sat in the canoe, unbound but among us, and he whispered to me as we travelled.
“You are one of the lucky ones,” he said. “A big boat is waiting, and nearly full. All of you will be sold and will travel across the water in very short time.”
“Lucky?” I asked.
“Others will have been waiting on that ship for moons. Dying, slowly, as it fills. But you will not have to wait.”
A horrid smell wafted along with the breeze. It smelled like rotting food. It smelled like the waste produced by a town of men. I scrunched up my face.
“The smell of the ship,” Chekura said, his voice trembling. “We will soon be parted.”
“Walk gently among your captives, Chekura. One will be sure to have a knife, and be waiting for you to make one false step.”
“And you, Aminata, beware of your own beauty, flowering among strangers.”
The foul-smelling breeze smacked us again. “How could anything flower, or even live, in that kind of stench?” I said.
Chekura’s lip quivered. The boy who had been smiling through three revolutions of the moon was now frowning. I never had a brother, but now he seemed like one.
“Where will they take us now?” I whispered.
“Across the water.”
“I won’t go.”
“You will go or you will die,” he said.
“Then I will return.”
“I have taken many men to the sea,” Chekura said, “but not once have I seen one return to his village.”
“Then I will sleep by day and walk at night. But listen to me, friend. I will come back. And I will come home.”
THE CANOES PULLED UP TO A WHARF by an island, where I saw a castle on a hill. More toubabu and men of the colours of my homeland swarmed about, loading goods and
To pass the time, since I was walking directly behind her, I watched the baby Aminata. When her head bounced around too much, I called out to Sanu to tie her up tighter. The baby had little tufts of softly curled hair at the back of her head, and I spent hours imagining how this little girl would someday grow her hair, comb it and braid it. For two days, I lost myself in daydreams while staring at the tiny baby bundled up close against her mother.
On the third day of walking after Aminata’s birth, the coffle slowed at the crest of a hill. Although the morning was still young, the sun was already hot. I took my eyes off the back of Aminata’s head and looked out at the world again.
What I saw seemed impossible.
Over to my right, where the path led, the river flowed fast and wide. It was wider than ten stone throws. At the shore of this angry river waited many canoes, each with eight rowers. I had never seen so many boats and rowers. To my left, the water expanded into eternity. It heaved and roared, lifted and dropped. It was green in some parts, blue in others, forever shifting and sliding and changing colour. It foamed at the mouth like a horse run too hard. To my left, water had taken over the world.
The captors led us to the shore. The toubab shouted directions as the captors released our yokes and shoved us into the middle of the canoes.It confused me to see them force Chekura into my canoe. The rowers were naked, other than loincloths, and they reeked of salt and sweat and dirt. Their muscles glistened in the sun. The canoes pulled smoothly over the water as the river widened, until I could not make out the details on the distant shore. As we left the land, a captive in the boat next to mine struggled to his feet, bellowed and rocked his canoe. Two huge oarsmen stopped rowing and bashed him mightily with their oars. Still he kept struggling. When the canoe began to pitch, they dropped their oars and quickly threw the captive out into the fast-moving waters. He thrashed and sank and was gone.
We were rowed through the morning. The sunlight reflected off the water and burned my eyes. The river widened so dreadfully that all I could see of the land was that it was mountainous to my left and flat to my right. Chekura sat in the canoe, unbound but among us, and he whispered to me as we travelled.
“You are one of the lucky ones,” he said. “A big boat is waiting, and nearly full. All of you will be sold and will travel across the water in very short time.”
“Lucky?” I asked.
“Others will have been waiting on that ship for moons. Dying, slowly, as it fills. But you will not have to wait.”
A horrid smell wafted along with the breeze. It smelled like rotting food. It smelled like the waste produced by a town of men. I scrunched up my face.
“The smell of the ship,” Chekura said, his voice trembling. “We will soon be parted.”
“Walk gently among your captives, Chekura. One will be sure to have a knife, and be waiting for you to make one false step.”
“And you, Aminata, beware of your own beauty, flowering among strangers.”
The foul-smelling breeze smacked us again. “How could anything flower, or even live, in that kind of stench?” I said.
Chekura’s lip quivered. The boy who had been smiling through three revolutions of the moon was now frowning. I never had a brother, but now he seemed like one.
“Where will they take us now?” I whispered.
“Across the water.”
“I won’t go.”
“You will go or you will die,” he said.
“Then I will return.”
“I have taken many men to the sea,” Chekura said, “but not once have I seen one return to his village.”
“Then I will sleep by day and walk at night. But listen to me, friend. I will come back. And I will come home.”
THE CANOES PULLED UP TO A WHARF by an island, where I saw a castle on a hill. More toubabu and men of the colours of my homeland swarmed about, loading goods and
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