SNAPSHOTS 3

Chapter 21 Witnessing Once again, my mind returns to my childhood. It is only recently that I recalled this incident; it is one that left me completely terrified; so shattered, in fact, that I completely blocked it from all memory until now. I must have been still quite young the day Pa hitched the mule to the cart; together we ventured out to secure feed for the two cows that we kept penned in our backyard. Under normal circumstances, Pa would stop off at a few nearby fields where he knew the owners; he would first seek out the owners and ask their permission to scour their fields for any remaining vestiges of grass feed. Lately, however, feed was very scarce; this source had dried up and Pa had to come up with another plan. We travelled for, what seemed like, hours. At one point, we came upon a wooden bridge that clearly separated the private Cane Farm Plantation from the public domain. It was there that we stopped. After hiding the mule in a shady grove just a little ways from the bridge, Pa then grabbed his machete and approached the muddy river from below the bridge. To take the bridge, would be to invite discovery. Reluctantly, I followed in Pa’s wake. The water was so murky I could not see below the surface. This gave way to all sorts of imagining as to what unholy creatures called these waters home. Pa guided my hesitant legs through the muddy waters unscathed. Once we reached the other side of the river, I ran ahead to the top of the bank. From there I could see an open field replete with freshly cut cane tops. So excited was I upon seeing this open field, I raised my voice. Alarmed, Pa grabbed me from behind, muffling my mouth with his huge hands. Pa’s eyes darted in all directions; a look of alarm clearly registered on his face. I had no real understanding of why Pa seemed so scared; full understanding would follow all too soon. As Pa released his hold on me, he whispered this warning, “Frankie, yo have to be very quiet. No noise. Yo don’ want de overseer to catch we. Tha’s real trouble. So be very quiet. Yo hear me, Son?” “Yes, Pa.” It wasn’t just the words Pa spoke, or the fact that he was whispering his warning to me, that made me fearful. It was something about Pa’s whole demeanor itself that generated my fear. Pa appeared uncertain and unsure; this, in and of itself, was enough to initiate physical tremors in me. Then, Pa looked at the open fields. When he saw what I had seen, a slight smile registered on his face. The hard work of cutting the sugar cane stalks had already been done. The actual stalks were on one side; the luscious greenery of their tops was on another. The cane tops would make excellent feed for our cows. All that remained for us to do was to gather them up and make them into bundles. We began our work in the area closest to the river. Every so often, Pa would stop and look around, his eyes darting nervously at the slightest hint of movement. Each time he did this, a sense of foreboding stole upon me. After preparing several bundles, Pa was ready for the second phase of the operation; this involved us once again venturing into the murky waters. We made several trips across the muddy river transporting the bundles to the cart hidden on the other side. Navigating the uncertain waters of the river with a heavy load on my head, was no easy matter. To make matters even worse, I could not shake my conviction that at any moment I would be confronted by a ravenous alligator looking to make an easy meal out of me. Tales of terror had been woven into our psyche over the years by our elders. A part of me felt they were part fabrication and part exaggeration, but a greater part of me, especially right now, in these present circumstances, felt the conviction of every word. Somehow, however, I had the good sense to keep this terror from my father. Faithfully, I followed in his stead, matching him, trip for trip. I just wanted the job to be finished. Managing to keep up with Pa was an accomplishment that gave me much pride and drove me to continue despite the toll the heavy load had on my body. Finally, Pa said that we had only one last trip to make and we would be done. He even hinted that we would reward all our hard work with a treat. Relieved and happy that we were almost done, I allowed my imagination to dream up the perfect treat. Would it be ice cream? Or, more specifically, would it be coconut ice cream? As we crossed the river for the final time, I slipped and fell into the muddy waters. I screamed out in terror! Pa took a moment to inspect in every direction before coming to my aid. By the time he reached my side I had already gathered up the bundle of cane tops. So saturated with water were they, that I did not have the strength to place the bundle back onto my head. Carrying it at my waist, progress to the other side was slow. Pa came to my side as I was about to scale the bank. The bank itself was not steep; its path was gradual. But, because of our constant use, the path itself had become very slippery. Pa worried that I might again lose my footing, and this time slide backwards into the river. But, Pa had an even greater worry. Nervously, he asked, “Frankie, yo hear any sounds?” “No, Pa.” In retrospect, I soon realized that Pa’s hearing was perfectly fine; it was my hearing that was compromised.