My Name's Not Friday by Jon Walter

had caught him out again. He says, ‘Yes. You’re right. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean no harm by it.’
    I put the head of the axe on the ground and relax against it. ‘You told your mother we’d do the logs – so we got to do the logs. There’s no two ways ’bout that, but I reckon if we work fast enough then we might have time to get to the woods as well. Why don’t you show me how things work? Then we can get it done.’
    Gerald fetches the other axe and now he’s eager to show me how much he knows, pointing out this and that and telling me things I don’t need to know to do the job at hand. ‘All the trees around about us have been girdled,’ he tells me.‘That means we cut through the bark around the trunk and then wait for ’em to die before we bring ’em down. Look!’ he points at one of the standing trees. ‘Do you see there? About a foot from the ground there’s a circular cut.’
    ‘Sure. I see that.’
    ‘I know pretty much how everything should be done around here, so you can always ask me.’ He nods at the pile of sawn-up wood. ‘We need to do about half of ’em. These are for the stove. We just split ’em and lay ’em up to rest. That’s how it works.’
    So we work hard, the two of us splitting logs and taking ’em away to the barn in the barrow, and once we’re done it feels like a bond of sorts, the both of us all hot and sweaty. Gerald takes a canteen of water from his bag and offers it to me before he drinks himself. ‘You don’t talk much do you? Mother always says I talk too much. Are you always this quiet?’
    ‘Not always. It depends what I got to say.’
    When Gerald smiles there ain’t no trace of the bully in him this time. ‘The way I see it, we’re gonna be working together for a long while to come so I’d like us to be friends as best we can.’
    I take a drink of water and wipe the top of it with the palm of my hand. I hesitate again, not sure what I should say. Living here’s like walking through a swamp and not knowing where it’s safe to tread.
    Gerald can see I’m struggling. ‘I’m just saying it’d make sense.’
    ‘It might be difficult.’
    ‘Do you mean cos you’re a darkie?’
    ‘Because I’m a slave, yes. Anyway, your mother don’t like it.’
    Gerald takes a deep gulp of water. He wipes a hand across his mouth. ‘Listen, I’ve grown up playing at the cabins. George was my best friend till he went into the fields, and the way I always seen it, we’re the same. Black or white – it makes no difference. I know that might surprise you, but I mean it. It’s what my daddy taught me, see, cos he’s got a lot of new ideas about the way things should be done. So, for instance, he don’t like to call you boys slaves. He calls you workers instead. Do you see the difference? He says there’ll come a day when you get paid to work, so we’d all better get used to it. He said there’s people done the math of it and that planters like us will make more money working with free men. Can you believe that? Well, it’s true. It’s got to do with the rise in production that happens when people work for themselves and have a vested interest. That’s what he told me anyway. It’s all about the vested interest.’
    I tell him I don’t know nothing about that and I glance down at my bare feet, my big toe pointing at his black leather shoes. I know we ain’t the same. I don’t say it, but I know it.
    ‘So how come your daddy’s gone to war? I mean, if he believes the things you say he does.’
    ‘Why’s he gone to war? Because he don’t like being pushed around by Yankee politicians who don’t know our business. This war’s about freedom, Friday, and we got to stand up for ourselves. My daddy’s as patriotic as the next man, and so am I, come to that.’
    ‘But if he says he wants to set us free, then why don’t he just do it?’
    ‘He can’t.’
    ‘Why not?’
    ‘Cos he don’t own you. I do.’ He gives me a little bow and he’s