before the hatch was opened again.
We were weak; we were dehydrated; we were starving; we were going to die.
Samantha finally did.
She lay right up against me—rapidly decomposing in the heat—for three nights before they removed her.
There was no space for me to pull myself away from her body.
Her bowels had emptied. So did mine.
The maggots that crawled out of her mouth and nose and ears tried to crawl into mine too.
The smell was—unforgettable.
I went a little insane.
ON THE FIFTH DAY we were ordered to muck out the hold, we were allowed up for exercise, and we were fed. Women and children were now also chained to the deck.
They led the “rebels” out. A show was about to begin.
Slade was not among them.
Then I saw Garanwyn, dragging himself on the ground with one arm. His kneecaps had been smashed in. His eyes were buried beneath bruised swellings. The right side of his face was twice its normal size. His left ear had been severed. His right one a bloodied pulp. His chest had collapsed as if all the ribs had been extracted. One arm dangled from its socket. He had no fingernails. He had no toenails. His genitalia were a mess.
He was the youngest of the men. They had tried to make him talk.
Garanwyn’s eyes sought mine and when he found them he mouthed, “Shhhh!”
I thought he might be angry with me, but no, he was still thinking of my welfare.
They strung him up.
The cat-o’-nine-tails whizzed through the air, ripping open the skin on his back, buttocks and legs and slashing it to pieces.
The sailors charged with whipping him took it in turns. Four shifts.
They just wouldn’t stop.
On and on it went.
There was no need to see if he was alive before he was thrown overboard.
It was all my fault.
I would live with the guilt for the rest of my life.
THE OTHER MEN WERE let off with thirty lashes apiece. They had to heal by the time the ship docked, to be healthy bucks capable of fetching a good price.
There were four hundred slaves at embarkation, and two hundred and twentyseven survived.
Which was about the international average.
CAPTAIN WABWIRE PUT IN an appearance that morning. He hadn’t been sighted for ages. He watched the proceedings while rocking backward and forward on his feet. The canary-yellow caftan he wore that day was encrusted with food droppings. The plaits in his hair were dried up and coming undone. His eyes had lost their sheen. His skin was dulled. His expression, numb.
He staggered toward us captives as if to make an announcement, as if to lecture us on the futility of insurrection.
But when he opened his mouth to speak, he fell to the ground.
Two sailors rushed to pick him up and escort him back to the master cabin.
It dawned on me that he was drunk out of his head.
AFTER THAT, OUR SHIP sailed uneventfully toward its destination—the paradise island of New Ambossa on West Japan.
OH LITTLE MIRACLE
U pon arrival at the port of New Ambossa, I was subjected to the traditional slave-market scramble. We were shoved into a holding pen until at the appointed hour the gates were flung open and a howling mob of men burst in like a pack of starving hyenas about to rip us to shreds.
They grabbed at the slaves they wanted, tied us up with rope or simply dragged us out of the pen by whatever limbs or body parts they could lay their hands on.
I collapsed in the middle of the scrum and was stampeded on. The man who pulled me up wanted me, but so did another, which resulted in a tug-of-war as they each tried to dislodge a shoulder from its socket.
The victor bound my wrists with rope so tightly that they bled, then dragged me out of the pen like I was a goat (not for the first time).
I wet myself, but I was used to that by now.
He tied me to a post, inspected my scalp and ears, pulled apart my lips and invaded my mouth with fingers that stank of tobacco and left their bitterness on my gums. I filled my mouth with spittle but the foul taste
We were weak; we were dehydrated; we were starving; we were going to die.
Samantha finally did.
She lay right up against me—rapidly decomposing in the heat—for three nights before they removed her.
There was no space for me to pull myself away from her body.
Her bowels had emptied. So did mine.
The maggots that crawled out of her mouth and nose and ears tried to crawl into mine too.
The smell was—unforgettable.
I went a little insane.
ON THE FIFTH DAY we were ordered to muck out the hold, we were allowed up for exercise, and we were fed. Women and children were now also chained to the deck.
They led the “rebels” out. A show was about to begin.
Slade was not among them.
Then I saw Garanwyn, dragging himself on the ground with one arm. His kneecaps had been smashed in. His eyes were buried beneath bruised swellings. The right side of his face was twice its normal size. His left ear had been severed. His right one a bloodied pulp. His chest had collapsed as if all the ribs had been extracted. One arm dangled from its socket. He had no fingernails. He had no toenails. His genitalia were a mess.
He was the youngest of the men. They had tried to make him talk.
Garanwyn’s eyes sought mine and when he found them he mouthed, “Shhhh!”
I thought he might be angry with me, but no, he was still thinking of my welfare.
They strung him up.
The cat-o’-nine-tails whizzed through the air, ripping open the skin on his back, buttocks and legs and slashing it to pieces.
The sailors charged with whipping him took it in turns. Four shifts.
They just wouldn’t stop.
On and on it went.
There was no need to see if he was alive before he was thrown overboard.
It was all my fault.
I would live with the guilt for the rest of my life.
THE OTHER MEN WERE let off with thirty lashes apiece. They had to heal by the time the ship docked, to be healthy bucks capable of fetching a good price.
There were four hundred slaves at embarkation, and two hundred and twentyseven survived.
Which was about the international average.
CAPTAIN WABWIRE PUT IN an appearance that morning. He hadn’t been sighted for ages. He watched the proceedings while rocking backward and forward on his feet. The canary-yellow caftan he wore that day was encrusted with food droppings. The plaits in his hair were dried up and coming undone. His eyes had lost their sheen. His skin was dulled. His expression, numb.
He staggered toward us captives as if to make an announcement, as if to lecture us on the futility of insurrection.
But when he opened his mouth to speak, he fell to the ground.
Two sailors rushed to pick him up and escort him back to the master cabin.
It dawned on me that he was drunk out of his head.
AFTER THAT, OUR SHIP sailed uneventfully toward its destination—the paradise island of New Ambossa on West Japan.
OH LITTLE MIRACLE
U pon arrival at the port of New Ambossa, I was subjected to the traditional slave-market scramble. We were shoved into a holding pen until at the appointed hour the gates were flung open and a howling mob of men burst in like a pack of starving hyenas about to rip us to shreds.
They grabbed at the slaves they wanted, tied us up with rope or simply dragged us out of the pen by whatever limbs or body parts they could lay their hands on.
I collapsed in the middle of the scrum and was stampeded on. The man who pulled me up wanted me, but so did another, which resulted in a tug-of-war as they each tried to dislodge a shoulder from its socket.
The victor bound my wrists with rope so tightly that they bled, then dragged me out of the pen like I was a goat (not for the first time).
I wet myself, but I was used to that by now.
He tied me to a post, inspected my scalp and ears, pulled apart my lips and invaded my mouth with fingers that stank of tobacco and left their bitterness on my gums. I filled my mouth with spittle but the foul taste
Similar Books
