The Gravity Myth

The God of Stories Pt.II

The next day, I was well enough to work the fields again. Not that the bosses would have let me rest, even in my condition. Around midday, a cavalcade arrived at the manor. Word came down that it was led by a Lieutenant Irving Ellis. He was travelling to nearby plantations, gathering recruits to fight against the 'War of Northern Aggression'. The owner was too old to fight, but his only son and heir, Samuel, was not. The master wished for him to stay and claim his birthright, but the son was compelled to duty through pride and naïve youth. He left with Lt. Ellis and company against the master's bidding.

Samuel wrote his mother and sister every week, telling them of the courageous boys he trained beside. He lauded the preparedness and might of the South, and assured them the war would be over soon. He did not believe the Northern Union had the conviction to fight for long. After only two months, the letters stopped coming. One more letter was received, weeks later, but it was not from Samuel. It was from the Confederate Army, informing that Samuel had died in the Battle of Bull Run, at Manassas. The South had won, but the master's son was among the casualties. They praised his valiant contribution, but it mattered not. The household fell into a deep depression for many months.

As the mood finally began to lighten again, my good friend Mr. Joshua passed away. The master appointed a new household servant, a young man named Stephen. He was handsome, well-mannered, and educated... for a slave. He was also light skinned, and rumors circulated that he was the product of the master's greetings with some of the younger slave girls when they were brought on. Perhaps it was guilt or obligation that made the old man choose Stephen for the position, but the boy was also quite adept at it. Stephen was charming and respectful. Soon, the manor had a reputation of having Virginia's best 'house negro'. He quickly became beloved by all, especially Miss Caroline, the master's daughter. I believe that Stephen reminded her of her brother Samuel, and this brought the miss comfort. They say that familiarity breeds contempt, but in some cases, it creates longing. And so it was that within a year, Miss Caroline was with child.

During the war, the manor had occasionally served as temporary barracks for passing soldiers. Many were willing to believe that Miss Caroline had been enamored with one, and word spread that she had been hastily married away to a Confederate boy. Since all of the doctors and nurses in town had been appropriated for the war effort, the closest the plantation had to help deliver the baby was a newly purchased slave. Her name was Leslie, and she had some previous experience as a midwife.

When the baby was born, there came the sound of raised voices from the manor. It went on for hours, becoming increasingly violent, until the house fell suddenly quiet. It is funny, how the greatest of evils are conceived in silence. That morning, in the hours before dawn, I caught a glimpse of Clayton and the midwife stealing off to the forest. Miss Leslie held a bundle fast to her body, trying as hard as possible to be inconspicuous.

I do not know what happened in those woods that night, but I do know that only Miss Leslie returned. And a young slave girl had also given birth that night. Interestingly, no one had even known she was pregnant. Perhaps she did not show due to malnourishment. Her child was lighter than the color of a slave, but there was no doubt he was born of Africa. Yet, no one spoke of this. Some knowledge is too terrible to discuss, lest we tempt fate.

From that day on, the master did not leave the house. The Lady Caroline was sent away to become a schoolmarm. Not long after, the old man became bed-ridden, dried up from anger and bitterness. The foremen he appointed were even crueler than Clayton, doling out punishments as if to meet a quota.

I wondered if Anansi had played me a fool. The blood of a son and a foreman was not what I had bargained for. The master had indeed been crippled, but he was not broken. It seemed only to fuel his ruthlessness.

Anansi had not forsaken me. He gave me a sign of his return. On a summer day, an entire line of slaves came running from the field, screaming of spiders. It was in fact an infestation of boll weevils, scourge of the cotton plantation. They were contained to a small portion of the field at the time, and the foremen attempted a controlled burn. But a strong, wayward wind blew the blaze back across the untouched crop. Day and night, the hands fought the fire.

With all of their attention diverted, I rose up. This was what I had waited for, what I had spilt my own blood for. I gathered my brothers of the plantation and led them to the tools. With sickles, hoes, and axes we rose up and tore through the exhausted men. Once we had taken their lives, we left them to the fire.

With that, we turned to the manor. The master lay in his lavish room. Gray and gnarled, he did not seem surprised when we newly free burst into the bedchamber. That white man's look of contempt never left his face, even after I cleaved it in half. I fell to my knees, years of relief flowing through my veins. As my people celebrated outside with the all-consuming flames, a large slave I had never before seen approached and lay his hand on my shoulder.

"You are free."

"We are free." I corrected him

"This feeling you have... this..." He paused and leaned closer. "Quickening. Do you believe anything in a free life will measure to it again?"

I searched my heart, but could not contradict him. I felt immortal.

As if reading my mind, he asked, "How would you like to live this moment for eternity? Or, at the least, for as long as you wish? You may walk away, looking over your shoulder for the dogs and the white man, or you could be a warrior for freedom. Freedom for all of your captive brethren. Anansi vows this to you."

"You speak for him?"

"We have all spoken for him. Every curse that has befallen this hell have been his whispers. You can choose the same mantle as I. Lead your people as you have done today, against every tyranny across this land. Claim these men of evil for Anansi."

I closed my eyes, knowing that I had made my decision when I approached that crossroad. A life of retribution, or a life of running. In my eyes, the latter is no life at all. But of the infinite righteous hunt, I thought I would never tire.

***

"But eventually, I did tire. The evil remains as always, in its many forms, with no regard to color. My anger is long gone. That void has been filled by a thousand vengeances. I do not regret this. I would choose so again, given the chance. The hunt is important. You would believe that the star-shunners live in the shadows, but it is us who allow the world to live in the shadow of ignorance. For if they knew the sacrifice it took to feed the world, few would be willing to make it."

"So they throw you in prison because you won't kill for them anymore?" Evan asked.

"No, not a prisoner. You have seen my cell is open. I have one task left. Then I will take the walk to the center and become a part of this Earth once again."

Evan stared at Bekoe, skepticism scrawled on his countenance. "That's a good story. You really had me going. To believe that you're immortal? Some kind of avenging angel? Bullshit. You're all some weird leper colony or something. A cult of lepers, capturing and leaving innocent people to die. You're all crazy. You know this isn't a myth or fable. This is real life, with a real life explanation."

Bekoe flashed that pointed grin again. "Not an angel, nor leper. And you should be careful to assume that those here are innocent. Keep that in mind. No, I am here to provide counsel. As your lawyer."