Historians Delicacy

1849 - Dimitris Rogerson 

My freedom was revoked as quickly as it was given, by the same place that promised it to me just a few months earlier. The grimy white hands of this nation have snatched away my chances of refuge in the north. 

It is my right to seek revenge for what they failed to give me, the freedom to live.

The time has come for us to take a stand, and not allow generations to pass without action.

-

I traveled only when the moon was high, leaving the unheated weathered barn, where blood dripped from the callused fingers of my people. An overwhelming sense of fatigue filled my head at the slightest movement, causing my mouth to taste foul. The days without being caught, no matter how difficult, resurrected my dreams of freedom

I refused to look back, keeping my eyes on the dark horizon. The cold coated me like a reassuring blanket, shaking my bones violently, never leaving. In the hopes of escaping this country's thickest prison, I rationed my food and pushed my body as much as it could withstand.

I could only pray I'd make it alive.

1508 - 

(Translation follows.)

Mi temblorosa pluma araña la página escribiendo frenéticamente. Las nuevas ideas surgen más rápido de lo que puedo garabatear las. Actualmente estoy trabajando en mi novela, Las Sergas de Esplandián. Una obra romántica que sin duda cautivará a los lectores y los transportará a otro mundo. He incorporado personajes seductores y lugares tentadores para mantener la fantasía. La última frase que he conseguido componer es: "Sabed que, a la derecha de las Indias, hay una isla llamada California, muy cerca del Paraíso Terrenal"; este escenario, la isla de California, es una gran península que está llena de mujeres exóticas.

Es inevitable que mi libro rebose fama una vez publicado.

My shaky pen scratches the page in frantic writing. New ideas come to me faster than I can jot them down. My novel, Las Sergas de Esplandian, is currently under work. A romantic piece of literature that will captivate readers and transport them to another world. I’ve incorporated alluring characters and enticing places to keep up with fantasy. The last sentence I've composed is, “Know that, on the right hand of the Indies, there is an island called California, very near to the Terrestrial Paradise;” This setting, the island of California, is a large peninsula filled with exotic women.

It is inevitable that my book will overflow with fame once published.

1539 -

The ship threw itself into the sand. Cortez clutched his copy of Las Sergas de Esplandian, a book that wasn't widely popular, but claimed a remote peninsula north of their territory. In anticipation of what awaited them, Cortez and his navigator, Francisco, didn’t wait till their ship was fully anchored before jumping onto the softly padded white sand. After traveling long and arduous through dense waves with the island's tip clearly visible the entire journey, the pair finally arrived.

As a tribute to Garci Rodriguez's book, they would call this land California. In addition to representing the people, it would become a beacon of hope for those seeking freedom and inspiration to expand.

1850 - Dimitris Rogerson

In the end, this “compromise” they crafted cost me my freedom.

-

Throughout the journey, I kept my eyes open for any barn with unusual markings, usually in the top corner. It was placed this way so only people searching would see the markings from a distance. Otherwise, it’d be hidden by the angle of trees or a slanted roof. Landing in these locations was like finding gold. Primarily because there was less chance of being shot, but also because it ensured a night of rest. 

I was one of the only brothers who learned to read, so I recognized these symbols quickly. As a scrawny child, barely three feet tall at the time, I would go into town to spy through the windows at my mother's request. From watching people, I gained a lot of knowledge about their relationships based on how they treated each other.

Mrs. Willhems, a name I’d heard other kids call the perky woman standing at the front of the class, was unaware of my unbroken gaze through the frozen glass window and had taught me the alphabet. 

-

It was a soggy spring night. Rosemary filled the air as I walked along the shrubbery-lined path up toward the white luminescent two-story house.

I knocked softly, only to alert anyone awake rather than draw attention to the late-night visit of an uninvited guest. The door creaked sharply as it swung open. 

Taking up just as much space as the door was a white woman with a broad nose. Her look softened momentarily as she looked at me. 

When the slightest bit of dawn cracked through the clouds, she’d shoved me into a tub. Stops like this rarely provide so much.

As she took the time to feed me, I figured she didn't have company. Runaways, such as myself, seldom visit the far southern parts of the country.

“Yessur’ just a few states over, you'll hit the west coast,” she said, not glancing up from her boiling pot of meat stew. 

She poured me a scoop into an old clay bowl and left a small spoon on my placemat. 

It tasted like dust. But that's not to say I didn't appreciate it. My mouth watered as I gulped a glass of lukewarm liquid, washing the soup down. It was vital that I ate enough food to last the trip. I might not get an opportunity so pure again. When she offered seconds, I politely accepted while concealing my grimace.

I spent the rest of the journey hugging the earth, tall grass surrounding me while I tried to catch some shut-eye. 

- 2 months later, on September 20th, 1850 - 

The place they called California looked familiar, even far from where I'd grown up in South Carolina. In my mind, I was so certain that I had made it to another land that would open its mighty arms to me as soon as I arrived. 

The union, however, excluded me from its welcome. 

This was not a compromise, it was a homicide.

-

The paper fluttering out from beneath my brown, patched-up flats caught my attention during my usual nightly travels. 

Stepping back to examine the page, now marked by a shoe print on its front, I read the headline. The dim streetlight above the road flickered as I made out a couple of words.

‘The Fugitive Slave Law, Good News For The South.’ Below that it says, ‘We Won’t Let California Win, Let’s Regain Our Side.’

It dates back to September 9th.

I tried to read but the words were smudged from the previous rain. The article concludes, "... and if they escape, we shall capture them again."

I stopped.

Throughout my body, I felt a tingle, a numbness that made my stomach turn. Suddenly, right then and there, I felt the exhaustion of my journey hit me like a hurricane. The weight of the world sighs from my lungs as I cross my legs, dropping to the dew-covered grass.

It's still a free state. It’s still a free state, and it needs to remain that way.

I did not walk the length of this country to be denied. I won’t tolerate it.

Immediately, my mind filled with escape plans. In the event I reach my destination but am captured, what do I do? I'll claim to be a free man, not a runaway. No one would know the past I lived. If I can secure a home, I will make a new life for myself and even have trusting neighbors. I'll labor over the endless tasks of the townspeople. I’d be able to feed myself to the fullest. To drink until my lips were plump, with a hint of water lingering as a glaze.

I’d make a home if given the chance.

-

After waking up from a quick slumber, I slowly regained the strength to continue on my journey. But the moment I saw it, I was gifted with the ability to sprint across the open fields. It took my eyes a moment to adjust, for it glowed brighter than a thousand stars.

A stupid-looking billboard, “Welcome to California”. 

Looking back toward the way I'd come, a red eye appeared in my vision. Human creations captivated me less than those of nature. 

It saw me better than anyone had for months. Shining steaks of crimson onto the crops fields before, and behind me for miles. Rising from the horizon, like a scared child peeking out from their mother's side, was the most stunning thing I’d ever laid eyes on.

They could kill me now and it’d all be worth it to see this. I’d resign my fate to the gods who constructed such a view and be happily fulfilled. Seeing radiant sunrises like these each day would keep me alive, and I would give anything for that comfort.

-

I had my freedom, and I would fight ruthlessly to keep it.

I held the power. Even when the sun beckoned, I turned the other way, seeking a home in the other direction.

1850, November 21st - Miles Mark

On our way to the corner store, I could see the light glinting off my daughter's coffee-colored skin. She clutched my haversack in a business-like manner, as she swung the tote we often took to the market, which I had recently patched, over her right shoulder.

In the days to come, I would wonder how I ever took for granted simple moments like these. Their unforgettability would amaze me. 

-

Wearing a scuffed leather jacket, a man approached. I thought he was looking for my business. The town appreciated my crisp sewing skills. He wore a haggard expression that could stop a bullet. His eyebrows furrowed and the next thing I knew, he sprints across the fruit aisle and grabbed me roughly by the arm.

I didn’t resist. In spite of his starting the conflict, I knew better not to stir up trouble with a white man. Those guys can make people like me serve life sentences for the smallest of crimes. In a court of law, they can make innocent people look guilty. As simple as it gets, the color of my skin puts me at a disadvantage in any situation.

As I keep my eyes trained down on the tiles, the man rustles and jerks me forward. I keep my hands raised in resignation, counting down the seconds till he realizes there’s been a misunderstanding. But it takes a minute too long because my five-year-old barrels down the row, a bag of chips in hand. 

“Daddy,” she calls, then stops in her tracks. Her eyes train on mine, and I nod, urging her to stay calm. My wife and I have trained her for situations like this. It's just too common for folks like us. But that doesn’t stop tears from swelling.

“Let go uh’muh daddy,” She’s a ferocious child, strong-willed like her mama.

The man doesn’t stop. He turns and wrenches my arm in his deadly grip. The cashier and a small pile of people stare as he drags me, calling out to a buddy of his, “We got 'em, Phill.”

But over my daughter's screaming, I doubt the guy heard him.

It was time to panic.

- 

When the wagon hits a pothole, it launches me up from my seat. The feeling of detachment overtook all my senses throughout my body.

I couldn’t feel my eyes become blinded by the glaring sun. The contrast of the dark sky made it glow a bright red hue. Soon enough, black specks followed me wherever I looked. 

I wish the sun swallowed me whole.

I wish it would immerse me in its flames and let me feel the physical burn of my heart.