Hello everyone!
I have been wrestling with the title Monkey Boy for several months and have decided to change the name to THE EXQUISITE NOGGIN OF EUBIE WASHINGTON TILL. Some of you may not approve, but the original title connoted something that many people including myself considered negative.
From now on I will only be posting excerpts.
A dipping sun remindedTill just how exhausted he was. A rest would’ve been welcome, but the urgency of his mission found him stepping cautiously into a murky swamp in order to cross to the other side. The thick, muddy bottom felt like cold molasses – every laborious step strained leg muscles that had already sacrificed their last bit of energy. Half way to the other side he noticed several ripples that were rapidly widening. Because the water had risen past his waist and the uncertainty of the depth caused him to move slowly, he was sure that the circles were not of his making. He stepped gingerly. From out one corner of his eye, he saw familiar dark bands with their telltale pale centers slither in his direction. With its white mouth gaping, Till knew that one bite from the deadly cottonmouth would keep him from his quest. He held his breath and stood stark still hoping that the snake would ignore him. Then just when it seemed that it hadn’t taken any interest, he cried out as tiny crimson bubbles rose to the surface.
Despite the pain, he hobbled as best he could before dragging himself to the opposite bank. He knew that every minute was precious and held his breath before making a deep cut with his knife where he had been bitten. He sucked out the vile tasting poison while spitting it out each time. Dogs barked in the distance, but the bite had made him so weak that he failed to see the black jockey statue that held the welcoming lantern of a slave station. Thinking that Slavers might be near, Till secretly wished for the poison to work its magic in order to release him from a fate crueler than any venomous snake could bring. The last thing he remembered before blacking out was a vaguely familiar face and a fleshy black hand adorned with a sapphire ring and dogs licking his face.
***
Except for the lace tablecloth and curtains, Till’s tattered hat was the sole finery in the sparsely furnished Quaker home. Esther, the Quaker’s island housekeeper reached into the hatband pulled out the note. She could barely read, but knew enough about letter formation that spelled, friend of a friend was something written by a caring person. She quickly handed over the note to the Quaker master of the house. “As soon as he’s able, we can move him further North,” the Quaker said.
