Fireflies

[Contains themes relating to the treatment of slaves in Southern US, around 1830, but no actual violence.]

You are not supposed to listen at doors.

If I am caught, he'd have the skin off my back.

But how can I resist? 

Late September, Georgia. 

Outside, the Estate was waking up from the hottest, most humid months of the year. What appeared to be vast flocks of fluffy white birds overwhelmed the cotton plantations. Field Slaves who'd been out with their picking bags since dawn toiled in the sun while the Overseers on their horses strutted the rows, rifles and whips hanging from their saddles.

I was lucky - if 'lucky' was anything like a word you could use for a House Boy, a House Slave. At least I wasn't killing myself in the fields like my brothers outside. 

I worked here, in the House, where Mr George calls me his House Boy.

I learned my trade from my daddy. 

I wear this stifling costume, just like my daddy. 

Only my daddy wasn't really my daddy.

My real daddy was Mr George's daddy.

I stood in the corridor outside the panelled door, the jug of iced tea for the visitor carefully balanced on the silver tray. My knuckles were raised for the polite tap when I heard Mr George say my name, quite clearly, from inside the room. 

And that of my Hannah...

My hand stopped before it touched the wood. I leaned in, pressing my ear to the dark surface.

They say that nothing good comes from eavesdropping.

And nothing does.

"Hannah, stop your crying." 

That was Miss Rachel's voice, Mr George's young wife. High and shrill.

I could hear sobbing somewhere in the room. Hannah was Miss Rachel's maid. Her fetcher and carrier. Her companion, even her confidant, who was supposed to see herself as anything but another House Slave. Also my sweetheart. My beloved. My future wife.

"What's she snivelling about?"

That was our visitor's voice, slow and deep: Mr James Henderson, the reason for my tray. Known among us as a heartless slave owner, even though he talked soft. His plantation was next door, only a few hours ride from here.

Miss Rachel: "George. You did say Hannah could marry Daniel. You know they've been intended on each other a long time."

Mr George: "I did say that, honey. But I've changed my mind. And James here needs a good House Boy."

That was Mr George's voice, hard and nasal. My owner. Ultimately Hannah's owner. And Miss Rachel's. He owns everything. More god than what the preacher tells us about.

Mr James: "That's true Miss Rachel. I'm trying to make a better impression in this here society. And I've neither the time nor the inclination to train one fresh."

Mr George: "Well, sir. He might be only sixteen but he does his job well. No trouble. Might end up better than his old man, the best House Boy I've ever had."

Mr James: "If this is not to you liking, Miss Rachel, and if you don't want him no more, George, I could take Daniel's father."

Mr George: "You could, James. If you knew where we buried him. Had to hang him last year. Tried to run." 

Sounds of laughter between the men.

Mr George always started drinking early. I bring him his bottle first thing these days.

Miss Rachel: "Pull yourself together, Hannah. George, why are you giving Daniel away? You can see how Hannah is very upset and—"

A sudden spasm of guilt pulled my ear back from the door, leaving an oily print on the varnish. I calmed myself, held my breath, replaced my ear, and listened again.

"—time training her."

Mr George didn't sound too patient: "She'll get over it. I'm sorry honey, but James here needs a House Boy" 

Mr James, soothing: 'It's a big kindness of your husband, Miss Rachel to let me have Daniel. We're doing business together now. If it's any consolation I'll be buying him. If I like what I see—'

I knocked and I entered the room, keeping the tray steady and my eyes on the floor.

Out of the corner of my eye, I could see Miss Rachel sitting in the ornate chair by the fireplace, back erect and long hair curled with ribbons, fluttering a fan over her milky face. Her blue cotton dress puffed from her shoulders and flowed from her slender waist over her knees and down to her dainty shoes below. 

Yes, Miss Rachel always dressed fine. But she would never be so fine and lovely as my Hannah, who stood behind the chair in her simple plaid dress and neck scarf, holding Miss Rachel's lace handkerchief tight to her mouth. She didn't look up when I came into the room.

Mr George stood by the empty fireplace; waistcoat open, shirt unbuttoned at the collar. He always wore long leather boots in the House. They brought dirt in from the fields, not that he ever had to clean it up.

The visitor, Mr James, was dressed splendid in the modern way. His hair and moustache shone and he still wore his top coat, even though the room was warm.

Talking stopped.

I closed the door softly behind me.

"Here he is," said Mr George. "What kept you, Daniel?"

"I had to go to the ice house, Mr George. There weren't no ice to be had in the kitchen."

This was a lie. But we looked after each other in the House. Even now someone would be wiping my oily ear marks from the door.

"Very well. Put the the tray down on the side table." 

Mr George pointed to an empty place on the carpet, near the tall window. "Stand over there, Daniel."

I crossed over and stood in the light, the air bright on the side of my face. Mr James poured himself a glass of iced tea, walked over and studied me as he sipped. I knew to stand still, say nothing until spoken to and gaze at the wall.

"Good colour. Light skinned, eh? Handsome." 

I knew I looked fine in my livery coat and breaches, my gold buttons and braid. I always kept my buckled shoes polished.

Mr James laid a hand on my arm and squeezed the muscle beneath. 

"If he doesn't suit, he can work outside. You won't mind that will you, Daniel?

I could see my Hannah wrinkling her face and trying not to cry. 

I said nothing, which was good enough for Mr James. "Good. He'll do for me nicely, George." 

He turned to Miss Rachel. She sat upright, a small frown on her white forehead. 

"Don't you worry Miss Rachel, I'll look after him."

Mr George took a half empty glass from the sideboard and clinked it with Mr James's.  

"Well, there you have it, Daniel. You're to go with Mr James here in the morning when he leaves. What do you think of that?"

I hadn't moved. I kept my eyes on the carpet as I spoke.

"Mr George. You and Miss Rachel agreed Hannah and me could be married."

"Quite right, Daniel. We did. And we could do with more servants coming along. But I've a business to run. I'm thinking of the future. "

"Excuse me, Mr George, but I been thinking a long time about a future too. With Hanna."

I could feel Mr George looking at me. The one thing they hate is cleverness or backchat. He finished off his glass in one mouthful and seemed to let it go.

"Well, a different future for you now, Daniel. You'll get used to it." 

He turned and winked at Mr James. "Plenty of other meat in the locker, eh?" 

Both men laughed.

"George!" Miss Rachel stood up from her chair. "Come, Hannah. We'll leave you gentlemen to it."

I caught Hannah's eyes as she left. Bloodshot and wretched. 

My heart nearly stopped. I almost stepped forward to grasp her hand. Stupid. I watched Mr George and the way he looked at Hannah, and I didn't like it.

The door closed. I heard them walk away down the corridor.

I tried again. "Mr George. I been with you since I was a boy. Ain't I done good service?"

"I have to admit it, Daniel. You've been a good servant. How many times have you been punished?"

"Just four times, Mr George."

"Hear that James?" Mr George held his hands out in disbelief. "Just four times. What are you? Seventeen? I don't know another one of them this old who's been whipped less. He'll be no trouble."  

He turned to me. "I'll be sorry to see you go, Daniel, but my mind's made up."

Then I did the thing you were never supposed to do. 

I looked Mr George in the eye.

"You promised, Mr George. You said we could marry when she's sixteen. And she done that. Now you sellin' me?"

Mr George's face went red. 

"Careful, boy."

I dropped my gaze immediately. Made my face inoffensive.

"You hear that James?" Mr George chuckled. "Keep promises to a slave. They get listening to all that moralising and next they'll be wanting their own fields."

Both men started laughing again. Only Mr George's eyes weren't really laughing. 

"Sorry, Mr George, I said. 'Didn't mean nothing. Just taken by surprise is all."

Mr George seemed to let it go once more. Like he didn't want any trouble: the trouble of beating me. 

"Well, surprises happen, Daniel. You'll leave tomorrow. You can go now."

I made a small bow, kept my eyes down, and made my way to the door.

"Leave the tray."

Halfway down the corridor I turned around, angry, feeling like Mr George had just slapped me. 

I tiptoed back to the door. The oily ear print was gone. 

I made a new one.

"—proper drink, James? To the deal?"

I heard the clinking of glass over by the side cabinet.

Mr James: "Perhaps I can take Hannah too? Miss Rachel said the two were up for breeding. Can always use the extra. And he'll be happy. Work better."

Mr George: "Sorry. Can't have that, James. It's Hannah that keeps Rachel from going foolish. Not much entertainment around here. No, she's got to stay." 

There was silence for a while. 

Mr George: "Did you get a good look at her? She's a beauty, ain't she."

Mr James: "Hannah? My god, yes, sir. That Daniel was a lucky man."

Mr George: "Not so lucky now."

More silence.

Mr George: "I fancy a bit of breeding myself. Just like my daddy."

Mr James, chuckling: "You wasn't just helping me out then."  

Mr George: "I would have had trouble with that one, for sure. Right there. You could see him thinking. But he'll be fine once he's away from temptation. Don't you worry none."

Mr James: "Oh, I'm not worried, George. He'll stop thinking quick enough if he starts. And I wish I could find—"

I left to more sounds of laughter, wiping the grease from the door with my sleeve.

I got to see Hannah after lunch, while Miss Rachel was resting. She came in while I was supervising the boy who cleaned Mr George's boots. I joined her in the pantry where we could be alone.

Her eyes were full of panic. 

She knew. 

We both knew.

We held each other for a long time, saying nothing. Just holding on. We were heart-bonded. Known each other from childhood. Hot summers running through the yards and fields. Taken up to work in the House. Meeting when we could in the cool evenings; talking and watching fireflies; listening to songs from another place. Heart-bonded. 

Just as our bodies were in bondage, here, in the House. 

Bondage only made bearable because we had each other. And a future.

"We could run, Hannah."

"They'll catch you. Hang you straight away. I don't know what would happen to me but it would hurt bad."

We stood there in the white room, just breathing. 

Hannah bit her lip. "I know who could help, Daniel."

"Help?" 

"Meet me. You know where. After dark, when everyone's asleep." 

She kissed me and left.

The moon was high and bright. The soft sound of crickets greeted me as I stepped into the warm night air. Any other time I'd be glad to be out here, meeting Hannah. 

She was waiting for me by the side of the house, between the tall windows. She put her fingers to her lips, took my hand and pulled me away. We ran silently across the yard, behind the wooden quarters of the field slaves.

A small, shabby woman was waiting. 

All the slaves knew her: Old Meg. Long hair, crusts of white in her eyes; beads around her wrists. Among ourselves, we called her Bamidele. The healer. The teller of stories.

We three stood silently in the moonlight. 

Bamidele stepped forwards and touched my cheek with her calloused hand. 

"Daniel. You strong?"

"Yes, Bamidele."

Bamidele rubbed my ear between her finger and thumb.

"You very strong, Daniel?"

"Believe so, Bamidele."

"Because you gotta be."

And then she told me and Hannah a story. About slaves who disappear. A path north, following stars and secret signs. A long, hard road that led to freedom. 

I must have lived in the house too long. "Is that just a story Bamidele—"

"You got a better story, Daniel?" Hannah gripped my hand. We locked eyes, sharing tiny glints of moonlight. "We can't just run nowhere, Daniel. Stay here and we'll never see each other again." 

That nearly broke my heart. I knew I couldn't go on in this life without her. And I knew Hannah felt the same.

"Bamidele says we have to go now," she said quietly. 

We squeezed hands. Bamidele took them in hers, holding our fear. I don't know how, but I believed her.

"You don't take nothing. You must go. Now. There'll be dogs in the morning. You remember the first place, Hannah? 'Cos that's all I'm telling you."

"I do Bamidele."

"Go by the hanging tree. They think we keep away from that. But we stronger."

Bamidele smiled. I couldn't smile back. My limbs thick and heavy. She mumbled something in a language I never knew.

And pushed us away.