Read Online Voyage of Midnight by Michele Torrey - Free Book Online

Ikoro despise us?”
    Billy moved closer. “They say it’s ’cause we make his people into slaves.”
    I frowned, thinking. “But Uncle said—I mean Captain Towne said—that if
we
didn’t take the slaves, then the Africans would just enslave them or kill them as surplus population, as prisoners of war. Captain Towne says slavery’s been happening in Africa for thousands of years. Natural order of their society. We’re saving their lives and doing them a favor.”
    Billy slapped a mosquito on his neck. “I don’t know about all that stuff.”
    Just then Pea Soup approached from nowhere, his face blank as usual, and handed me a tankard of liquid. I took a sip, pleased to find that it was sweetened lime juice. It was the first time he’d shown me such a kindness, and I hoped it was the beginning of an industrious relationship. I’d come to believe that the look of hatred I’d seen reflected on Pea Soup’s face that night had only been a trick of the light, for I’d seen nothing of the sort since. “Why, thank you, Pea Soup,” I said, smiling. “It’s jolly good.” Then Pea Soup began to fan us with a piece of canvas he’d had tucked in his loincloth.
    “Anyways,” Billy continued, “so a while back Ikoro got together this big army of savages and laid ambushes and slaughtered white folks everywhere like they was dinner. Chopped ’em to pieces. Ate their livers and hearts. Cooked their gizzards.”
    “Sounds awful.”
    “Slaughtered Africans too, if they was into helping white folk capture slaves and suchlike.”
    A breeze gusted over the deck. Overhead, the yards creaked. I took a gulp of lime drink. “Sounds like a monster.”
    “Would have chopped you to pieces too, if you hadn’t gotten him first.”
    I wiped my mouth and stared at him. “You know, Billy—”
    He leaned in close, as if we were conspirators. “What.”
    “You’re revolting.”
    He smiled. “Thanks.” And, seeming pleased, Billy stood up and ambled away, leaving me with my tankard of lime juice, my journal of African words, and Pea Soup stirring up the breeze.
    “gàj,”
I said. “Pea Soup, do you understand?
gàj.”
    It was an hour later, and Pea Soup still fanned the air, chasing off the mosquitoes. It’d occurred to me that Pea Soup would be a grand resource if he happened to know the language. I repeated the word, but he only glanced at me briefly, blankly, and then stared at his usual spot, somewhere close to his feet. “The interpreter said it means ‘spoon,’ and so if you speak this particular African language, then you must know its meaning.
gàj
. Have you heard this before?”
    Up went the canvas, down went the canvas.
    I frowned. “You know how to talk, don’t you, Pea Soup? Come to think of it, I’ve never heard you speak at all. Perhaps you’re a mute. Are you a mute?”
    I shaded my eyes and gazed at him, knowing he couldn’t understand a word of English. And, as usual, he didn’t say anything. I decided he really wasn’t disagreeable to look at. Fact was, I wished my own frail body would find a form of masculinity as had Pea Soup’s, though I wouldn’t care to be black as midnight,nor have coarse, woolly hair. I’d never seen him smile, and wondered if he’d good teeth. As his owner and master, I was responsible for his teeth.
    “Well,” I said, sighing and returning to my journal, “perhaps you just don’t know
that
word. Perhaps, as a savage, you’ve always eaten with your fingers. How about
ez
? It means ‘tooth.’ ” I tapped my front tooth. Still nothing. I pointed to myself. “Philip.” Then I pointed to him. “Pea Soup. Can you say ‘Pea Soup’? That’s your name. Probably not God-given, but it’s your name nonetheless. ‘Pea Soup,’ can you say it?” I said it again, slowly:
“Peea Soooup.”
    I might’ve pursued this had I sensed any understanding from Pea Soup. Instead, his monotonous blankness left me yawning, and I wondered if it was even possible to guide