Tangled Passion (2 page)

“Good!” the old man said, nodding like a satisfied teacher.

At the center of the Fort, the branches of three flamboyant trees touched and overlapped, providing a shade that easily accommodated everyone at the Fort. Each of the three main roads in the Fort ran into one of these trees then split and went around the tree into an open space the size of two ships standing side by side. From the open space one could take one of the roads to the Master’s quarters, the Slave quarters, or to the Fort’s main exit.

Even though Edwards, the Slave Master, and everybody else who spoke English to any degree referred to it as the Square, and even though the rest of the slaves who didn’t understand any word in English knew exactly what location was meant when the word “Square” was used, the open space in the center of the Fort was in reality a huge triangle; the three trees representing the three ends of the triangle.

By the time Jonah and PaNene arrived at the square, it was already full; it was the first such gathering since Jonah arrived at the Fort. Every morning, slaves assembled at the square to be counted before leaving for the plantations but that was done in several phases and groups, depending on which plantation a slave was assigned to. But this time, the crowd consisted of all the slaves congregated at once; it was a rare gathering and to some slaves a frightening one.

“What might this be about?” Jonah queried, raising his voice a tad higher. The noise from the crowd was deafening, almost as noisy as the slave market in Roseau where he’d been bought by Massa Longstands.

“The Massa, I hear has something to tell us,” PaNene replied.

“Why didn't he give the message to Edwards as usual?” Jonah asked, fearing that the message must be of a serious nature if Massa Longstands was delivering it himself. PaNene ignored his question and focused on the movement that was sweeping through the crowd like a swelling wave. By the time it settled, the crowd had divided into two long lines; the male slaves on one side and the females on the other; facing each other like the opposite walls of a long corridor. Jonah’s eyes quickly scanned the female line and in a few seconds rested on Ashana. She was standing a few meters to his right; her face still bearing the evidence of Michael the devil’s handiwork—a swollen right cheek and a black eye that was visible from the moon. A sharp pain, a million times stronger than what he felt on his back, tore through his heart as he struggled to block the rush of the events of that fateful day from his mind. But soon the murmurings of the crowd became distant and Jonah slowly drifted back to the day at the plantation. It was during their first break and Jonah had sneaked away from his group to meet Ashana where they normally met–under a tamarind tree. The two had barely settled at the foot of the tree when a rustle in the bush startled them. “Don’t move,” Jonah whispered, quietly diving to the ground and slowly crawling towards the movement.

“Ashana go! Run back to the plantation now!” he called back to Ashana, urgency and fear in his voice as he pointed her in the direction they had come. She jumped almost immediately, fear and a million questions plastered all over her face. “Please go!” Jonah ordered, ignoring the look on her face—a plea for him to accompany her. “Go!” he begged, declining her invitation. Michael the devil was approaching menacingly and there was no way Jonah could outrun him if he traveled with Ashana. The only option was distraction; Ashana would travel the short and safe route back to the plantation while he, on the other hand, would allow Michael to see his back in order to lure him in the opposite direction, then lead him through the longer, more complicated route. The plan worked as Jonah had expected; Michael chased Jonah furiously through the bushes like a mad bull but his weight prevented him from keeping up with Jonah’s quick dashes, turns, and leaps. Michael was simply too slow to catch up with him and Jonah arrived back at the plantation many minutes before Michael the devil.

When Michael finally emerged from the bushes with a violent stagger, panting heavily, with his face, ears, and eyes flaming red, the entire group of slaves was startled and very scared. But when Michael’s eyes rested on Jonah and he began to walk in the direction where Jonah was seated, Ashana knew that something terrible was about to happen and she began to sob softly.

“Jonah! Jonah!” PaNene whispered, nudging Jonah with his left elbow.

“What? Oh Pa,” Jonah replied, startled like one yanked out of a very intriguing dream.

“Massa is here!” PaNene said, slowly shaking his head and giving Jonah a look that asked him how he could be sleeping on his feet at such a time and place.

“Listen up everyone,” Massa Longstands began; standing at the end of the lines and then slowly making his way through walls of slaves. “My family will arrive here in two hours; my wife and son,” he added. He paused and then turned to Edwards who was standing right next to him.

“Massa di…” Edwards began the translation of Longstands’s speech. He was the only one who understood the Massa’s language and although his vocabulary was pretty lean, it nevertheless earned him an important position. He stood between the rest of the slaves and Massa Longstands, receiving instructions, orders, and messages from the Massa and then serving them to the others in Creole Language.

“I leave for the Rupert Bay in a few minutes to get my family. Everyone will return to their respective huts and re-assemble for introductions when I return.” Massa Longstands concluded his talk, turned to Edwards, and then walked away.

“That was it?” Jonah asked, turning to PaNene, who along with the rest of the slaves who began murmuring as soon as Massa Longstands was no longer within hearing range, seemed to be wondering the same thing.

“It is unfair that our sleep was interrupted for a message that Edu-wur-dsy could have passed on to us later on,” one of them said, visibly upset. The others nodded in agreement as they staggered back to their huts in small, gossiping groups.

Lady English was a popular British ship; one of a type that was constructed with misleading appearances. On the outside it had the appearance of an innocent cargo ship but it was fully capable of engaging in the fiercest of wars when and if the need arose. Lady English had the official responsibility to supply the West Indian British colonies with medical supplies and other goodies like tobacco and alcohol. But unofficially, she also made her trips with loads of concealed weapons hidden deep down her belly. Control of territories in the West Indies was still fragile and changed hands very quickly, oftentimes unexpectedly and in complete defiance of agreements and treaties—especially between the French and the British. But Lady English made sure that in the event that the French pulled a surprise attack on any of the British territories, they would be shocked at what hit them.

Mrs. Longstands and her son Nathan had spent almost one month on Lady English on their way to Dominica. The ship docked at the Portsmouth Harbor at about 7.45 that morning and Massa Longstands was at the harbor exactly twenty minutes before Lady English was due to open her doors. He was there to pick up his family but also to make sure that what he had ordered from Her Majesty had arrived exactly as he prescribed. Subdued excitement ran through his body; he couldn’t wait to see his son. The last time he’d seen Nathan, the young man was fifteen but in abundant supply of wisdom. As for Suzanne, his wife, Longstands simply kept his fingers crossed; the woman was highly predictable but sometimes deadly unpredictable. Either way she seemed to take her pain-in-the-hind job seriously.

“Why are these bushes not trimmed?” Suzanne complained, objecting to the overgrown roadside bushes that brushed against the carriage. “And why in God’s name is he riding like a man mad?” she added angrily.

“Anthony!” Longstands called out to his assistant who held the reins of the horse.

“Yes sir!”

“Go easy boy.”

“Yes Captain,” Anthony replied.

“Yes go easy for Pete’s sake, I got enough rocking from that old ship to last me seven lifetimes,” Suzanne said, very standoffishly.

“Yes Ma’am, sorry about that Ma’am,” Anthony said but continued to drive in the same fashion; he had a lot of respect for Longstands but he could already tell that the woman was one of those types that thought too much of themselves.

“You are going to enjoy the Fort and the Island, Nathan,” Longstands said to his son who had been very quiet all along.

“I really think so, Father,” Nathan replied, looking up at his father with a smile.

“You must be tired—both of you.”

“Yes I am,” Suzanne replied uninterestedly, poking her head through the carriage window.

“Well you’ll have all the rest you need at the Fort.” Longstands promised, offering a smile that Suzanne didn’t bother to appreciate.

“I am looking forward to it; I don’t want to lift a finger during my stay. I am here to rest, I mean to really rest,” Suzanne said, the glow and smirk on her face betraying the fact that she had everything figured out as to how she planned to spend her time at the Fort.

“You don’t have to do anything,” Longstands replied reluctantly. Even though he was happy to have his family with him, he couldn’t help but look forward to their stay coming to an end. He couldn’t wait for Suzanne to head back to England and leave him in peace—she was the most difficult woman to please. The carriage pulled into the Fort and the female slaves fell over each other, peeping through their windows trying to catch a glimpse of Massa Longstands’s family; especially his wife

“She is four times his size,” one of them whispered.

“And taller too but I love her dress,” another whispered.

“I don’t like her and I don’t like her dress. Look at the way she is walking, the arrogance and air of unlimited authority she flaunts. Look at how she is inspecting the yard; I think we are in trouble as long as she is here,” a third added.

“Hmm!” the others agreed, pulling back their heads from the window.

A few hours later, the square was packed again. “This group consists of the chefs,” Massa Longstands said, commencing his introductions with Nathan and Suzanne by his side. “They are responsible for the meals—one, two, and three,” he added, pointing out two women and a man from the group dressed in sparkling white aprons, “prepare our meals and the remaining four prepare the meals for the others.” Suzanne nodded without a smile. Longstands went ahead to introduce the yard slaves responsible for maintaining the Fort; the trees, flowers, and grasses as well as the reinforcement of dilapidating structures. Suzanne nodded again, this time excited at the number of people at her disposal. Nathan also nodded but with lesser enthusiasm; unlike his mother, he was not enjoying the parading of humans like goods on a display and he was just about to excuse himself when his eyes fell on Ashana.

She was amongst the plantation slaves, standing at least one foot taller than the others. Nathan cautiously adjusted his position for a better view, being careful to conceal his movement; he needed a better view and he got it. She was slim, her shoulders slightly broad with voluptuous breasts that stood erect on her chest, pushing fiercely against the cloth that barely covered her body. Her hands were slim and long and so were her fingers and legs; her stomach was flat and the slight curvature of her hips and hind was appealingly proportionate to her body.

In Nathan’s eyes she was the epitome of beauty. In his heart, she was a princess disguised as a slave and there wasn’t the slightest doubt or hesitation in his mind about his desire for her. He admired her skin; smooth with a shiny chocolate-brown tone that reflected in the sun. His eyes were still on her when his father ended the introductions and permitted the slaves to return to their quarters, and they were still on her as she turned her back and slowly dissolved in the sea of slaves hurrying back to their quarters.

Later that night Jonah sat in the pitch darkness behind the hut that he had known for the eighteen years that he’d spent at the Fort. His chin rested on his knees and his thought travelled many miles away; journeying to lands very far from the one he found himself trapped in, and resting in an imaginary land where he was free with Ashana. The wind travelled back and forth, briefly caressing his body then it rushed into the bushes where it noisily rustled the leaves and branches before vanishing. Jonah enjoyed every minute of the routine; it was almost as though he were friends with the wind, which enjoyed teasing him.

On the wind’s fourth round that night, it came with a scent that was all too familiar to Jonah’s nostrils; the smell of perspiration-stained tobacco scent. It was a signature scent that belonged to one man and one man alone—PaNene; the old man who had unconditionally appointed himself a father to Jonah and had yet to fail in the responsibilities that came with the role. Jonah remained silent, his head still bowed; he wasn’t sure he needed company but the ruffling sound of dry leaves told him that the old man was already clearing the ground, sweeping away dry leaves so as to take a seat next to him. Although he’d have preferred solitude, the company of PaNene was one that Jonah could never refuse. They sat in silence for a while, listening to croaking crickets and tree branches rubbing against each other in response to the movement of the wind. Every now and then the wind would knock on the door of Jonah’s nostrils with PaNene's unique scent, as if to remind him that the old man was still sitting next to him.

“I am aware that you are waiting for me to ask you what the matter is,” the old man began very softly. Jonah drew another circle in the sand and slowly shook his head. “So tell me what it is that bothers you so much it takes the liberty to spell itself so boldly and vividly on your face.” the old man added. Jonah’s head slowly turned and his eyes scrutinized the unique network of wrinkles on PaNene's forehead as if it were the only way he could be certain it really was his greyed friend. “What is it young man? What has you out here all by yourself at this time of the night?” Pa repeated as their eyes briefly met in the single ray of moonlight that shed some light. “If you see the chicken wandering about when the sun is no longer felt or seen, then the chicken has either lost its head or mistaken a source of warmth and light for the sun,” the old man continued in a subdued and subtle voice as if he were talking to himself.