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African America

Two runaways discuss the reality of an oncoming ship.

By Skyler SaundersPublished 3 years ago 3 min read
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The ocean looked like silvery, metallic soup. The beaches in Lewes, Delaware were made of sand so hot in the sun they blistered the feet. The waves lapped upon the shore, then rushed back out with a whooshing sound. The saltiness of the ocean brought to mind fish guts and offal. A ship appeared on the horizon.

“That’s gotta be them!” Jonas Clayton said.

“Hold on, hold on,” an older slave named Beulah said. She was thirty-four, Clayton twenty-seven.

“They’ve come back to get us!” Clayton yelped.

“Hush up, now,” said Beulah. “We don’t know what it is.”

Clayton squinted his eyes as the ship advanced closer to the shore.

“That’s them. That’s the king of Ghana’s ship coming to get us and bring us back home.”

“Goddammit, Jonas. I told you there are no African ships. Those white folks own and run those things. There’s no boats to save us.”

Jonas paced back and forth, squishing his feet into the wet sand, like a cougar stalking a deer.

“I know that’s them. I know they’ve come to bring us back.”

“If you don’t be quiet, those catchers are going to bring us back to the fields. So hush up, now!” She whispered sternly, and with intent. She grabbed Clayton’s arm, and looked him dead in his eye.

“We’ve got to get close to this water so they see us,” Clayton said.

“What are you talking about, man?! They’ll soon enough catch us, whoever it is on that ship, and be just as mean as the master,” Beulah said.

Clayton, wild-eyed, wasn’t hearing what Beulah was kicking in his ear.

He ran down the beach away from her. He started flailing his arms, trying to attract the attention of anyone on the ship. Beulah ran to him and slapped him. It seemed to shock him back to reality.

“Listen to me, now; that ship doesn’t give a damn about us. That’s not a ship to bring us anywhere. This is our home now. We just have to get to the North. We’ll sooner come across the Noah’s Ark than a rescue vessel. Do you have any sense?” Her eyes blazed like a stoked fire.

By Chirag Nayak on Unsplash

Clayton brought his hands to his head. He walked slowly and sat down on the sand. He rocked.

Beulah resumed. “All we have to do is look at that North Star and feel the moss on the trees and we’ll be out of this goddamn place. Do you understand? What sense do you have, man? You’re not a boy anymore. You’re grown. Am I saying something that’s getting through?”

Clayton grabbed a stick and got back up.

“They sold us like one of those mules the master has,” he said. We could have been home. I don’t get why that ship isn’t going to save us.”

Exasperated, Beulah replied, “Didn’t I just get done telling you? That white man, as far as I can tell, made those ships to get more slaves over here. We’re not going to be able to enjoy the luxuries of the whites down here, or on that ship. So you better get it out of your head you’re going to be saved. You’re not. You won’t be by them, anyway,” Beulah said.

Clayton wasn’t having this talk. He leapt from his feet, and ripped off his shirt. He dove into the water. Sun shone on the waves like drops of gold amongst the silver. He swam out far, and tried his best to beat against the waves. The ship came closer, and became easier to see clearly. Beulah gathered up her gunny sack and started walking back into the woods.

Clayton reached about halfway between the shore and the ship. Beulah covered her eyes with her hand and then watched Clayton’s head drop. She sucked her teeth and shook her head. She picked up her walking stick and then traveled all on her own.

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