Samuel Took My Freedom

[This story contains violence, improper language, and sensitive subject matters.]

GOD placed man above the beasts of the Earth and imparted into him a sense of beauty. While the animals can only hunger, fear, and thirst, man has been blessed, or cursed, to also yearn. So it must have been the smell, or the sense, of something sweet that prompted a pure white rabbit, or rather the purest and finest rabbit this side of the Mason-Dixon (if you are to believe his owner), to ungratefully run away from the comforts of his abode. Adorned with all the trappings a rabbit could ever want; mustard greens, carrot tops, cucumbers, parsnips, and sometimes apples as a treat. He was made to sleep on a soft cotton pillow three times its size and the same colour as its heavenly fur coat. Much later his owner would spend afternoons wondering how the devil could’ve ever persuaded his beloved rabbit to abandon him.

The ungrateful beast made his escape in the dark of night, as if it knew that the time was ripe for such things. And on this glorious or dreaded night this fine rabbit was filled to the brim with adrenaline and energy. It was able to hop onto a window sill and squeeze its way through the tiniest possible gap left earlier in the day. The unappreciative beast then had to navigate its way through an impressive cotton field, cutting itself on some of the spikes protruding from the towering plants. Somehow its presence was made known to one of the guard dogs, which immediately took off after the rabbit, who at this point had lost hints of its purity. Now fighting for its life, the rabbit was able to narrowly escape through a nearby brush just a stone’s throw away from the plantation. Though the dog was no longer giving chase, and through some sort of miracle, the rabbit ran for miles on end before it reached the scarce outskirts of a nearby town, as if guided by something like a compass. Undoubtedly tired, it took rest in the cover of tall grass, surrounded by noisy crickets and just a little distance away from a faint light. Apart from the stars above, this light was the only visible thing at that time of night. The ungracious white rabbit could make out the sounds of chattering men coming from the dim light, but pointlessly so, since it could never possibly understand what they meant even if it could hear them clearly.

“My pappy used to get so angry! But it was justified, shiieet I’m the one saying so…--”, four men gathered around a gentle, noisy, fire in the blinding dark of night. The crickets in the distance conspiring to set the mood.

“Now why’d he get so mad?” Interrupted one of the gentlemen. Though this term is used out of convention and not description. Because this term ‘gentleman’ is wholly inaccurate. There was nothing gentle about this man. And few would be so quick to even consider him a proper man. That is to say his character was questionable, and his name was Bruin. The rest were a bit more ambiguous. 

“Would you lemme finish! Boy’s fixin to hear but won’t lemme finish, now ain’t that somn’? If you lemme finish then you’ll know son!”

“I see where the temper comes from, or lack of it.” Sniggered the smartest of the lot, or so he considered himself, out of necessity of course. This one’s name was Elijah and naturally he was the oldest of the bunch. His extra years on GOD’s green earth acted as divine promise of respect and authority that shan’t be neglected without proper and just retribution, as far as he was concerned. 

“No no no, this temper’s all mine. My pappy wahn’t the type to be mad at all times, or even most of the time. He only ever got mad when he caught wind of any one of us failin’ to thank another, any other, for a helping hand, an act of selflessness or any thing like that. I used to cuss like an indecent. Shiiet, I used to cuss like I was Bruin and that would never be enough to make my pappy mad, not like forgettin’ to ‘preciate another’s obliging heart.” Said George, the storyteller, the closest of the four to the ideal of gentleman. 

The silence wouldn’t be allowed to simmer before being interrupted by Bruin, “So your pappy was a faggot. You sure he’s your pappy?” And the three mentioned men laughed harshly. 

Bruin, laughing as if he was in pain, notably pleased with his own comment, fell face first into the debris surrounding the fire before being swiftly propped up by George, to which he returned a vulnerable nod. 

Four men were sitting around a campfire in the blinding dark of night, with the crickets off in the distance making their infamous pacifying sounds. Throughout the night, or the portion of it the men had spent together, three of the four were rather enjoying themselves, sharing in conversation, laughter and some few other pleasures of life. Though the fourth unmentioned man excluded himself from these joyous things, and reserved to maintain a position, involvement, and look on his face all of which reflected the notion that he was there only observing the three in their habitat. But even this manner of observation wasn’t so, for the man’s attention was directed inwards, deep inwards. As had been the case for some time now. 

The unmentioned man was given the name John, by his superstitious mother, Lisa, out of spite for John’s father who had left her after he struck gold when visiting his brother in California. She firmly believed in the adage ‘give a dog a bad name, and you half hang him’, although she may have misinterpreted its meaning. This was why she chose to give John his name, even though he was already a named infant at the time of his father’s departure, with the initial name William. Lisa thought William was a conqueror’s name, and that John was somehow insultingly plain and thus William was to become John. Hereby cursing the only son born of Lisa’s union with the man she hated so dearly, and in doing so she thought she could hex the boy’s life to be ordinary. And therefore fabricating her own retribution, concocting a sort of indirect penance for the vainglorious man who left her so lonely, in such a cruelly abrupt manner, for such sinful reasons. Apart from this, Lisa raised John with love, to the point where he would die unaware of his mother’s subtle resentment towards him. Hence it wasn’t his upbringing that made John the man depressed.

After a bit more silence and a bit more conversation George decided it was time to return to their allotted duties. Bruin was in handcuffs for attempting to commit mail fraud against the town Priest -- the town being Periwinkle Mississippi, of which John was the Sheriff and Elijah his deputy. This was not Bruin’s first crime but it was his first federal crime for which he got caught, and as such he had to be taken to a nearby district court by the storyteller George, who was a US Marshall. John and Elijah were very familiar with Bruin, and Elijah harboured a secret subtle affinity towards him, likely due to overexposure. John, of course, had no opinion. And strangely George and Elijah knew each other from the dice playing days of their youth. So when the three present men met at the outskirts of town they found it only reasonable to relax for a bit and enjoy each other’s company. All good things must come to an end and thus the men were not to continue resting, but at once were to return to their work, duty and penance. Elijah said his goodbyes to George, but not before insulting Bruin. Then the group split in half, with John and his deputy heading back to Periwinkle. 

While riding home Elijah lambasted John for his discourteous silence throughout the gathering, but the Sheriff wouldn’t respond. Before the two would themselves split and head for their respective homes Elijah would call out to John, saying something to remind him of their long past discussions. John heard these words, as he heard Elijah’s earlier admonition, yet, like the pure rabbit, he could only hear them. He was in no state of mind to understand.

Despite growing up with no father, despite only knowing his mother who resented him in secret, despite him and his two sisters growing up relatively poor, John developed an early lust for life. He had a penchant for adventure and a peculiar love of all nature, but everyone who actually knew the boy knew that he favoured most especially the mountains. With this being his disposition, and with his performance in school merely enough to suffice, John got it into his head that he would spend his adult years as a Mountainman. He would live with his mountainous bride, in the heart of her, and he’d be hunting, and trapping, and fishing, and singing till the Lord called him to his heavenly home. This thought made him glad, this dream filled his heart. So much so that everyone who knew John at the same time loved him. He developed a reputation amongst the many for being purehearted and stronghearted. It would be a terrible thing that John’s mother would recognize this image people had of her son. It would be even worse that she would go to the Priest seeking guidance, fearing that her boy would too abandon her. It would be a cruel joke of fate that the Sheriff of John’s hometown would announce his intent to retire. Just as the purehearted young man was ripe to depart for the sweet treachery of the wilderness. 

Though time would pass, and the feet beneath him would sway him here and there, though the things his eyes would see would change, John remained firm in that memory, wherever he was, whenever he was. He would make a home in this state of mind, far away -- on the distant outskirts of anything present. 

When the next morning came around, the Sheriff dragged himself to his office. He would see it as a cruel thing that he could view the mountains just way out over there, every morning, as he made his way to his sentence.

The way John saw it, he committed a grave sin that day, many years ago, and now he pays penance with this duty of his. To serve is to suffer, and his suffering was thrust upon him by not recognizing the devil in his Priestly form.

“Morning Elijah.”

“Now the man speaks. Mornin’ John, there’s a nigger waitin’ for you in your office.”

“Pardon?” Only for Elijah to respond and repeat himself verbatim. 

“There’s a nigger waitin’ for you in your office.”

John would approach the interior of his own office wearily, this would be one of the few times he would be fully present throughout his objectively thrilling tenure as Sheriff. When he did finally find him, the slave was sweating like it was hot and shivering like it was cold. The way his hands were nervously squeezing and stretching his hat John felt bad for the poor thing. Seemed like a fine hat too, which was out of character from the rest of his tattered and soaked clothing. 

“Mornin’ suh, fine day suh. I’m lookin’ foh a rabbit suh. A fine fine rabbit, thee finest rabbit you woulda ever saw suh --”

“Slow done there boy -- what’s this boutta rabbit?”

The slave forced out, through his shaky breath, the story of how the pure white rabbit escaped from the plantation he hailed from. How the master of this plantation generally blamed him and his lot for this escape, how his life basically rested on the safe return of said rabbit. And how there would be a bountiful reward for whoever and whomever would aid in the finding of this said pure and fine rabbit.

“Rabbit got a name?” John asked mockingly.

“Phriedum.”

“Freedom?”

“Yessuh, it’s German.”

“Are you razzing me?”

“No suh.”

“How much is the reward?”

“Too much….. an’ my life too.” He sheepishly reminded the Sheriff.

The Sheriff then reminded the slave that he wasn’t able to abruptly leave his post, that simply too many people relied on his presence. He would promise to do his best to help search for the rabbit within the town, to ask others to help also, but he would not and could not leave the Municipality of Periwinkle. 

After dismissing the slave to nearby lodgings, John would almost immediately return to his incessant poisonous thoughts about duty and work and sin and penance, as if this strange encounter didn’t just occur. He would spend good parts of the day looking for the rabbit, to no avail, with his mind, incredibly, still in that same state of 20 or so years ago.

Until a dim light flickered in his head, and he was blessed with an idea. 

When nightfall came John approached Elijah about taking over as Sheriff for a little while, so he could help the slave make it safely to his plantation and then help his master find this strange pure rabbit. He presented his plan to John as if he was doing everything out of a sense of goodness and duty, but not without promising Elijah his fair share of the reward money. Elijah was eager to ascend to this deal for many reasons, even though, in some sense, his wisdom was legitimate and he could somewhat see what John was really planning to do. But without proof, and with the secret thought that it was about time, the two men agreed to the arrangement and John escorted the slave back to his plantation. 

John spent the night in the living quarters of the slaves, but this didn’t make him upset or prompt him to feel undignified. Perhaps partly due to his not being in the present moment, however, now he looked to the future, now he was filled with energy and adrenaline and anticipation. This was a brand new state of mind.

When the next morning came, the Sheriff went to speak to the plantation owner. He made a promise to bring him his rabbit and left for Periwinkle after receiving from him a barrage of kisses and much too many hugs. 

John would instead head directly for the town of Plato Mississippi where he knew a man by the name of Senex was breeding and selling rabbits. From him he took the whitest and finest looking one then made it back for the plantation, this being his third ever deceitful act under the heavens. However, fate is the finest of all comedians, and it would be that John would cross paths with the fine rabbit three times on his journey to and fro Plato. But it hid itself in the shielding vegetation every time John approached, and it was no longer fully white. And no longer commanded his attention, if truly, it ever did.

After collecting his money from the master, who we must guess was blinded by joy, John sent the promised share by mail to Elijah.

Then, still filled with anticipation, and with his mind fully in his dream of the future, John rode towards the mountains -- but not for the mountains. 

When he would arrive he would linger for a little while and promise his bride he would return, only to head west towards California. He knew that somewhere there resided the devilish Priest who took from him his freedom those years too long ago. 

This much Elijah couldn’t foresee.

The Sheriff, who for so many years was bound by duty, would hunt tirelessly with vengeance as his fuel. Until that dreaded day where he did find Samuel. And from him he took what was owed, a life for a life. 

He snuck into his home at the dead of night, such times were ripe for acts such as these, and proceeded to tightly clasps his hands around the neck of the Priest. Staring into his awakened and alarmed eyes. Until they stopped fighting, until they closed to rest. 

This is when John saw it fit to return to his beloved bride. Now to live the rest of his free life with her, to trap and to fish and to hunt until kingdom come.

But his incessant thoughts didn’t leave him, in fact they grew louder. And they would plague him, everyday, as he spent the rest of his life fleeing this crime of passion, and of anger, and of shame.

John would be inevitably found by a detachment of men, just some few months after, that shamefully included our storyteller George, who begged for John as he begged for Bruin. Though having killed a Priest for no true reason, the Judge wouldn't hear it and sentenced John to hang for his crimes. 

The winds command his motions now, allowing him to gently stroll, without meeting the ground, a distance not too far from the tree.

But somewhere in the sweet treachery of the wilderness, the pure and ungracious rabbit remained free.