Tangled Passion (8 page)

He feared the punishment he was more than likely to face but was determined to die rather than say a word acknowledging his awareness of the escape. He could live with any pain inflicted upon him and if he died from it, then the pain would be over but if he sold out Jonah and Ashana, he could not live with it and even in death he would be in pain.

“So why don’t we ask the boy's father; he should know–every father should know where their son is at,” Locua said, turning towards PaNene and speaking a little louder. “Isn’t it so PaNene?”

The old man shrugged and slowly sat up; maybe it was the right time to speak, so he opened his mouth. “If the boy and his girl have the guts at their age that you never had in all the years of your miserable life—years as many as the number of gray hairs on my head, then instead of speaking in the dark against them, you should be begging them to help you find where you buried yours.” The room exploded in the most humiliating laughter and mockery that Locua had ever experienced. Everybody knew that Locua was the most cowardly of the slaves—male or female. He would spill the beans without any hesitation, just to avoid a single lash of the Massa’s whip and people often shut their mouths whenever he approached.

Locua returned to his sleeping corner and lay down; listening to laughter and comments that were meant for his ears. He knew that if he stayed quiet long enough, they’d assume he had gone to sleep and the comments and laughter would eventually cease.

Although her daughter had reasons to be suspicious of Nathan’s unusual confession of love, Marecia was yet to find any reason why the young handsome son of the Massa would put himself through such trouble if his intentions were not honest. In her entire years on the plantations, not once had she seen such a thing—sure there were rumours that Massas fell in love with slave girls but they were rumours, perhaps rumours with origins in a slave girl’s fantasy-conquered mind. But she had listened to the man speak and for some reason, some strange reason, she believed him and wished her daughter trusted her.

“She asked me to tell you not to worry; she said to let you know that she will send a message to you as soon as they arrive in the land of the freed slaves.” She remembered PaNene relating Ashana’s message to her.

“But PaNene, what do you say? What do you think? Should I not worry?” she had asked the old man.

“They will make it. I strongly believe in them; their spirits are strong and unbreakable. You must be strong and only pray for them as I do all the time,” PaNene had replied, fishing for the right words to calm and console the obviously troubled woman.

Marecia nodded but it wasn’t a convincing nod. Pa could tell that he hadn’t done a very good job at convincing the woman. He watched her hands fold over her chest and her head fall so low that her chin was almost touching her chest.

“What if they don’t?” she asked very calmly. It was a question the old man had asked himself a million times but had avoided the consideration of even the remotest possibility.

“I have not thought about that because I have not considered the likelihood that they might not make it. Why waste my energy on something that is not true and worse still, bring bad luck on the innocent children?” he lied.

She nodded once more, admitting to herself that it was a possibility that she would rather choose to not consider, just like the old man.

“OK,” she said.

“If they do exactly as I advised, which of course I am very sure they will, then there is no doubt that they’ll safely make it to their destination,” he assured her.

There were still a million questions in Marecia’s head, floating like debris after an explosion, but she had chosen not to ask the old man any more but one last question. “Tomorrow morning….” she began and then paused.

The old man knew what was meant to follow before her sudden pause. The discovery of the escape the following day and the event that would unfold following the discovery was something he had also chosen to avoid thinking about. He had resolved to deal with it when it happened. “Tomorrow will bring what it was destined to bring and we shall meet whatever it brings with faith and strength,” he said calmly.

She nodded again and both went their separate ways. Marecia admired the old man’s faith in the young couple but nothing he’d said had done a good job of convincing her that escaping was a better option than what a relationship with the Massa’s son had to offer. The benefits were endless; the most important being that Ashana would not have to suffer what Marecia suffered as a young woman on so many hostile plantations—Ashana would be kept by one Massa and not become an object of first come first serve; servicing any Massa who got to her first.

She’d be exempted from the strenuous job of the plantation or any other form of hard work and all of Marecia’s fear of being separated from her daughter would be laid to rest. These were benefits that most slave girls dreamed of; something her own daughter had decided to turn down without due consideration, Marecia thought.

“I showed them a different route,” Marecia remembered PaNene telling her. “A route that is known to me alone—every other person who knew about it has passed on.” Marecia nodded but she couldn’t figure out why the old man was so calm and so confident. What if the others who knew about the route had told other people about it before they died? What if the Massa had gotten wind of it? She wanted to ask him but had restrained herself.

“The route will lead them to safety and as long as they follow my directions diligently, they will eventually arrive at a place where they’ll be picked up and brought to the island where freed slaves live freely with their former Massas.”

“Who will pick them up?” she asked. She had heard that at the Dublac River, a boat unfailingly arrived on specific nights to pick up escaping slaves. But she hoped that the old man would tell her something else—the story of the mysterious boat had never been authenticated.

“There is also the other option, which I told them about,” PaNene continued, politely ignoring the question by pretending that he hadn’t heard her. He had no reason to blame a woman who was asking questions about the welfare of her daughter. “Now if they choose to, they can remain right here in Dominica; they could go to Morne Diablotins—you have heard of Morne Diablotins I assume.”

“Yes,” Marecia replied, nodding at the same time. “I thought Morne Diablotins was another fairy tale,” she added, still finding it difficult to believe that there was a part of the island where the Massas couldn’t reach.

“Those who believe it to be a fairy tale do so because they are too cowardly to even imagine such a possibility. Why? Well because they know that they’d never be a part of it so they live in denial, they bury their heads in the sand and vehemently oppose the truth.”

Marecia nodded once again; she had sensed some anger in the old man’s tone and duly informed herself that any more questions would have to wait till another meeting between them.

“The brothers up in Morne Diablotins know the territory very well, better than the Massas and whenever they receive signs that a slave or slaves has escaped, they go out and find the slaves and take them to the Hilltop, or assist them to escape to the island of the free slaves,” PaNene concluded in a tone of finality.

Marecia had listened attentively to the old man, she had observed his effort to allay her fears and convince her that everything would be all right with the young couple and she respected him for his effort.

After a brief silence, and an awkward moment of ‘what now?’ Marecia broke down. “Why did they decide to go?” she asked, sobbing softly.

Although PaNene found her question a little stupid, he sensed and understood the fear and love behind it. He also understood where the senselessness in her question was rooted. Taking a deep breath, as he paused for a few seconds, he tried to convince himself not to say what he would have really loved to tell her in response to what he considered a stupid question.
Because, they chose to do what we should have done a long time ago and because they'd rather die and be over with this misery than be walking corpses in this Fort.
The old man had patience for a lot of things but certainly not a question like the type Marecia had just asked. He didn't know if she understood his response; he strongly believed in what he said and really didn’t care what anybody thought.

When they finally mustered enough courage to continue, it was with extreme caution; one slow step at a time. It was more relief to raise their feet off the ground than it was to return them; the fear that their feet might end up in the jaws of a hungry reptile was nagging.

“I am scared, Jonah.”

“Me too but we will make it through,” Jonah replied, squeezing Ashana’s palm gently. He wished he could believe himself about making it through; in fact on more than one occasion, he’d questioned his decision to escape.

“I fear that the monster snake is coiled up in some corner, watching our every move,” Ashana whispered into Jonah’s ear.

Jonah nodded. What if Ashana was right? What if the giant snake was keeping an eye on them? There was no doubt it could see them as clearly as they would have seen it in daylight. Was it planning on striking? If yes, when? Was it waiting for them to get closer or was it waiting for its last meal to digest? “Come,” Jonah said pulling Ashana gently; he needed her to increase her pace. She responded reluctantly. From where they stood, there was only one way to go and that way, unfortunately, was in the same direction where they suspected the snake was.

Ashana had resumed her humming. Jonah knew that she was totally unconscious of the fact that she was once more doing the very thing he had begged her to stop over a dozen times already. She was still trembling as she hummed. He listened to it for a while and decided not to stop her; if it consoled her, then let her hum, he thought.
God help us
, he prayed in his mind; not willing to vocalize his prayers, for fear Ashana might rightly interpret it as a sign of fear.

“Please Ash, don’t cry, we will make it,” he said at the very first sign that Ashana had already started sobbing. “Don't cry Ashana, we’ll soon be out of here,” he added, stopping briefly to hold her close. She rested her head against his chest and he let his chin slowly rest on her head. “I promise you my love, I promise that everything will be alright.” He continued to reassure her, fighting to conceal his own proximity to breaking down and probably sobbing just as much as she was.

“I am not crying for fear of this tunnel,” she said, her voice trembling like one with a noose around her neck, making her last wish. “But I cry for joy.”

“You cry for joy?” The words took Jonah by surprise; he was scared because of the tunnel and the possible obstacle it placed between them and their much-anticipated freedom. He had thought and could have sworn that she was crying for the same reason. So when she opened her mouth and the words he least expected hit his ears, he was absolutely dumbfounded and wondered what could possibly cause anyone to cry for joy in a tunnel that was saturated with the stench of death.

“I cry because if I have to die, it will be with you and if I have to live it will be with you also—either way I’ll be happy,” she explained, her hug around his waist tightening.

Jonah opened his mouth but no words came out; there were emotional tremors taking place in his heart and electrical sparks going off haphazardly in his blood stream. His legs were already wobbly and his eyes overflowing with tears, “Ash.. Ashana,” he started, stuttering uncontrollably, “P…P...Please believe me, we will be all right soon.”

“I believe everything you have said Jonah, even the things you are yet to say,” Ashana said, causing more tears to swell in Jonah’s eyes as he guided her slowly to the ground.

“We rest a little and then we continue, okay?” he said, still struggling to bring his runaway emotions under control. She fell asleep almost immediately but he stayed awake long after, feeling her body slowly rise and fall.

When he opened his eyes, it was as if they were still closed; the darkness he experienced with his eyes closed was no different from the darkness that he saw with his eyes wide open. How long had they been sleeping? His mind attempted to calculate but when he realized where they were, he abandoned the question and shook Ashana gently but hurriedly. “Ashana! Wake up! Wake up; we have to keep moving.”

She groaned softly and opened her eyes, but it was pitch-darkness; the warmth of Jonah’s body next to hers reassured her of his presence and reminded her of where they were.

“Did you sleep as well?” she asked him absentmindedly, not really waiting for an answer.

“Yes, I fell asleep after you did, but now we must keep moving, Ash.”

“Yes, yes,” she agreed and they both helped each other stand to their feet.

“I love you, Ashana.”

“I know,” she said. “And I love you too.”

The way she held onto him told him how she felt and this made him feel like a man with a divine responsibility; a responsibility to protect a divine woman. This feeling reached down in his bosom and loosened the bottled will to overcome, conquer and survive; emptying it into his bloodstream. For the first time his steps were bolder and more determined than ever.