Drum (11 page)

"And how will you do that?" Omo asked.

"The hatred that I had for my brother and his wife and son, I shall leave to my second spirit that remains in Africa. That will clean my heart so that I can fill it with hatred

for all white men. Then, indeed, will my spirit become strong, because from now on I shall hate every white man I see."

"And how about white women?" M'dong asked.

Tamboura had never considered that. He did not even know if there were white women. Then he remembered the paintings he had seen on the wall of Mongo Don's house. But those were not real women.

"Are there white women?" he asked.

"Surely there must be," Omo answered, "for if there were not white women, there would be no white children. These men we have seen must have had mothers."

Tamboura considered the matter. Surely if there were white women, they must be ugly creatures, pale and spiritless as ghosts. He wanted none of them, and yet. . . . He remembered the gold hair, the pearls and the half-revealed bosoms in the paintings he had seen. Perhaps he did want them. He would wait until he had seen one before makin g up his mind.

He thought about the matter as he sought sleep, but something troubled him. He wanted to ask Omo, but the regular rise and fall of Omo's chest under his arm told him that he was sleeping. Perhaps M'dong would know.

"M'dong?"

"Yes, Little Hunter." ,

"I would ask you a question."

"Yes, Little Hunter."

"If I fathered a child from one of the women of my village, the color of the child's skin would be black. Am I right, M'dong?"

"You are right. Little Hunter."

"And if a white man fathers a child from a white woman, the child will be white."

"It would be white." M'dong was not quite sure but he did not want Tamboura to guess his ignorance.

"Then, M'dong, if I father a child from a white woman, what color would it be?"

This time M'dong had to confess his ignorance. He visualized a man white from the waist up and black from the waist down. Or perhaps he would be black of face and white of legs. Then, it might be that one side would be white and the other black. He did not know.

"I do not know, Little Hunter."

"But, M'dong, if we go to this other land to be breeders of

dram 79

men, may it not be possible that we shall cover white women as well as black?"

Again M'dong could not answer.

"I do not know."

But Tamboura did. He felt a deep instinctive certainty.

"I shall, M'dong. I shall. And when the white woman gives birth to my son, it will be my son, even though it be striped like a zebra."

chapter ix

One day followed wearily after another in a deadly monotony of sea and sun, slowly sliding from dawn to day and then from dusk to night. Sometimes the sea was glassy smooth and the sails hung limp; at other times it piled up in waves and the wind played through the cordage, plucking at the ropes and making a weird, unearthly music.

The food became tasteless and then worse than tasteless. Some of the slaves refused to eat, but it did them little good to refuse. Captain MacPherson wanted no merchandise with ribs showing through a covering of skin. Those who spumed their food were thrown to the deck and held down with one burly sailor squatting on their chests and another on their legs. Stubborn jaws were pried open and a solid inch-long piece of wood was wedged between their teeth. Then the food was crammed into their mouths so that they had no • choice but to gag and swallow.

Tamboura and his friends ate the insipid stuff rather than suffer the torture and humiliation of having it pushed down their throats. The yams and the limes had long since disappeared, and now in the place of these there was only a slimy, gray, farinaceous slop which they somehow managed to get down. Once Captain MacPherson himself came along as their gang was being fed. He had his own bowl filled with the stuff, and ate it with relish before them.

"Guid Scotch oatmeal," he said, smacking his lips. "N'aer hurt man nor beastie."

Encouraged by his example, they ate the gray mess, but' none of them smacked their lips. They remembered the feasts in their villages, and their mouths watered as they recalled the roasted flesh of antelopes, the crispness of locusts cooked in vegetable butter, the delicate flavor of river fish, the cool juices of tropical fruits and the round loaves of cassava bread. Some of the men who came from the more remote tribes of the interior also missed the pink flesh of their fel-

low creatures when, after a raiding expedition on a hostile village, some plump young warrior among their enemies had been cooked for a big feast.

After the second week water was rationed—only a small cup a day for each man, and that warm and greenish, alive with wigglers. But they drank it as they ate their food, without relish, merely to keep alive.

As the journey wore on, the captives were allowed greater liberties. No longer were they chained at night. Certain of the slaves—the biggest and most powerful, if seldom the most intelligent—were issued patched pantaloons and armed with wooden clubs. Clothed with the authority of white men, they were often more assiduous in keeping discipline than the sailors had been; they needed little provocation to clout some luckless fellow slave over the head. Fortunately for Tamboura's section, their watch was a big, lazy Eboe who, despite his huge size, was as gentle as a kitten.

Even with their nostrils accustomed to the stench of the ship, the odor grew worse as the days wore on. The slave deck was painstakingly scrubbed each day, but try as a man might, he was not always able to get to the privies—mere holes which overhung the water aft—and his only way of relieving himself would be on his neighbor and on the floor. With some five hundred slaves packed into the low-ceilinged quarters, there was never a time when they were free from dung, vomit and urine, except possibly immediately following the morning scrubbing.

On two widely separated days—Sundays according to the Christian calendar about which, of course, the Negroes knew nothing—they were all assembled on the upper deck. Then the captain and the sailors appeared in fresh, clean clothes. The sailors sat stiffly on chairs in the front row while the captain stood up and harangued the gathering with his eyes on the small black book in his hand. The slaves could not understand a word he said, although from time to time he would look up from the book and point to them. When he had finished, the sailors all stood up and chanted and then they were dismissed. The whole affair was incomprehensible to Tamboura, but anything became a welcome relief in the monotony of existence.

They never saw the women who were on board except through the grating, and that was too far away for the men to catch more than a glimpse of faded cotton frocks. Even on the nights when the captain permitted them a conjo up on

deck and the men danced to the accompaniment of drums, kettles, and pans, the women did not appear. The dancing served to work off the men's energies, but without the women afterwards, it all became pointless. After the frenzy of the drums on those nights, Tamboura knew that strange things happened between some of the men in their tightly packed quarters. He could hear the gasps for breath and the low moaning. But he felt safe between M'dong and Omo, even though at times M'dong's hands had a way of straying down over his belly and Omo's buttocks would often press tightly against him. Violent friendships with their attendant jealousies sprang up among the slaves and on several occasions bloody fights broke out. Only a fear of punishment kept the violence at a minimum. The men fighting were soon brought down by the guards' clubs, and they were made to endure a day's agony spread-eagled on the grids, without food or water. ♦

One morning the waking captives sensed a subtle change in the air. Above the reek of sweat and excrement, a new odor drifted in on a fresh breeze. It smelled of earth and trees and rotting leaves. It was so pungent it could almost be tasted and it stirred the slaves into a new restlessness. They could hardly wait for the grating to be removed, and when they were once up on deck they could see birds circling the ship. Far off, on the port side there was a low-lying purple strip which came nearer and nearer until they could distinguish the white line of surf on the sand and the bright green of palms receding into the purple mountains. They passed vast acreages of shimmering, waving green, with blotches of white which betokened houses. At one time they were near enough to a jutting headland to see men—black men like themselves—following a high-wheeled cart pulled by plodding white oxen. A wave of restless enthusiasm ran through the ship. Even when night came, the breeze still brought the odor of earth across the dark water, and once, along toward dawn, they heard, faintly over the black waves, a cock's clarion call greeting the new morn.

The next day about noon, they saw a grim fortress of rock topped by a scarlet and gold banner. Then, with saUs flopping idly, the ship rounded the promontory of the fortress and they saw the vast city of Havana spread out before them, glittering in white, rose, turquoise and green. It was an in^ credible sight to eyes that had been accustomed to grass huts and leafy trails, tliis pile upon pile of masonry and streets

and people. They sailed between the grim piles of El Morro and La Punta and into the landlocked lake that was the harbor of Havana. The anchor chains rattled and the ship stilled, its voyage ended.

Much to their chagrin, the slaves were herded below decks, and locked in irons again. But something told them this time it would not be for long. They sensed that they had reached the end of their long journey and the brief glimpse they had had of the multicolored city spread out before them in the sun seemed to promise sufficient reward for all they had suffered. Now at last they were here, although they did not know where here was except that it had a strange name— Cuba.

M'dong drew Tamboura closer.

"We are here, Little Hunter. Tonight we shall be bedded with women. Ay! I hope there will be plenty of them."

"And I," Omo chuckled. "How about you, Little Hunter?"

Tamboura could not laugh. Both M'dong and Omo knew that he had never had a woman, so he let them laugh for him.

They remained in chains until late afternoon when they heard the welcome sound of the grating being opened. This time it was Captain MacPherson himself, his mates and several sailors, who descended the stairs. The collars were unlocked and the fetters taken from their legs. Again the light chains and collars were put on and they were separated into groups of ten. Then, up the steep stairs for their last sight of the whitely gleaming deck they had scrubbed day after day on the long journey. Two sailors stood beside a pile of folded garments and as they filed past they were handed patched and darned pantaloons, cut off at the knees. There was only one size—big—and to hold them up they were given lengths of hempen twine to tie around their waists. The pantaloons felt uncomfortable after the nudity of the voyage but the men were proud of them, for here was a concrete evidence of a new life. They went over the side of the ship on the same nets they had used to board it, only now, instead of encountering the Krus and their canoes, they stepped into wide boats with blacks at the oars who spoke a strange language that was not Hausa.

The boats, filled with two or three caffles of ten men each, left the ship and headed for the city, drawing up to a low pier of heavy wooden planks, quite different from the jerry-built construction of bamboo which had welcomed

them at Yendo Castle. Here the slaves disembarked and lined up in cafRes of two abreast for a march through the streets, just as the sun was paintirig the Morro behind them in vivid pink. The narrow streets with their abundant life, the happy laughing people, the donkeys, the white men in strange clothes, and an occasional glistening volante stirred their imagination. But far more interesting and eye-compelling than any other sight was the first white woman they saw. She was young, pretty and undoubtedly a whore, and she was leaning over the table of a sidewalk cantina talking to a white man. The very miracle of her existence stirred Tam-boura. He could see the outline of her breasts imder her dress and the curve of her hips and the line of her calves. Ay! so there really were white women! They existed and they were far more beautiful than any girl he had ever seen before. He became more certain than ever that some night he would meet one in the tamarisk bushes after the full moon dance and that he would father a son by her. He turned his head to eye her as long as possible and his hand stole up to the woven amulet around his throat. His spirit would help him.

With all the wonder of the streets of Havana, they had little regret for the Africa they had left behind, but their exciu-sion was of short duration. Soon they reached a low-lying building of peeUng stucco which presented a blank wall of masonry to the street. The entrance was barred by a double set of iron gates. As they halted in front of these, Moore, who was leading the procession, disappeared inside through an open wicket in one of the large gates. In a few moments he returned with a tall Negro; dressed quite as raggedly as they were. The gates slowly opened and Moore yelled at them to follow.

Inside there was an ancient stink which surpassed even the reeking odors of the slave deck. On the ship the frequent scrubbings and the cleanliness of sea air had diluted the stench, but here it was the accumulation of generations. The courtyard, paved with broken stones and strewn with litter, was surrounded by a continuous row of tall iron gratings.*- One by one these were opened, and a ten-man caffle entered each cell. When the slaves were inside, the collars and chains were taken from their necks and then the iron doors were closed behind them.

That was all. They had landed, they had had a brief glimpse of another world of Ught, color and freedom, and

now once again they were imprisoned. But the cells were roomy and they had suflBcient space to lie without touching each other. After the long, cramped nights at sea it was a blessing not to feel the pressure of a hot, sweaty body against the hot sweatiness of one's own. M'dong pre-empted the comer nearest the grating which gave a view of the courtyard, and through habit and the desire to be together, Omo and Tamboura followed him. They established it as their querencia —their own particular spot. Soon after their arrival they were fed a tasty stew of meat and vegetables, followed by oranges and limes—a welcome relief after the days of the porridge they had come to loathe. And there was fresh water—all they wanted to drink.