47

"Not a thing Brotha Frankie," John replied. "I know about the great civilizations of Kush and Nubia. I know about the blood of kings."

"You come from Africa?" Mud Albert asked then.

"I been there."

"So you are High John the so-called conqueror?"

"No," John said, not me. But he is among you."

High John?" Champ said. "Here? Which one of us is it?"

The men all lokked around at each other.

"Why, Forty-seven of course," Tall John said.

The men all started laughing, guffawing actually. Mud Albert laughed so hard he had to get down on one knee and hold his sides.

"Him?" Black Tom said.

"That runt?" Billy Coco added.

"How can you spect us to believesumpin' like that, Johnny?" Mud Albert asked. He had finally gotten back to his feet. "Forty-seven her haven't hardly evah been off the plantation. Why, he don't even have a proper name."

"Is you High John?" a slave we called Three-toed Bill asked me.

"Go on!" I said angrily

I was hoping that Tall John would stop his foolish talk, but that wish was not to be granted.

"Sure he is," John said. "Maybe you don't know it. Maybe he don't know it. But that's the way of the Conqueror. He ain't a man's flesh and bone alone. He's a spirit from the homeland. He burrow doen here or there for a while, do his business, end then he move on."

"An' how come you know that if' n you ain't him?" Mud Albert asked. He was no longer laughing.

The rest of the men sobered up too.

"At some othah time High John's spirit mighta passed through me, yeah," John said. "That's why when I see Forty-seven here I can see in him the spirit of the Conqueror. He might not know it yet but this boy is destined for greatness. An' if you stick close enough to him you might jes' find yourself wearing the chains of freedom."

"Chains'a freedom!" Three-toed said. "What the heck do that s'posed to mean?"

"It means many things, my friend," John replied. "And if you follow Forty-seven and you listen when he calls - you might just learns."

Boy is jest a fool," Sixty-three said, meaning John.

The other men seemed to agree and so they turned away towards their bunks.

Our chains were put on and the lights were put out. When the cabin was filled with snores I turned to John.

"What was all that nonsense you tellin' them about me? I ain't no High John the Conqueror."

"How would you know that?" my friend asked in the dark.

"I know who I am," I said.

"Not if you call yourself nigger," he said. "Not if you call Tobias Master. You have no idea of who you are destined to be, Forty-seven."

"But you do?"

"Yes."

"An' what will I be?" I was afraid of the answer but still I had to ask. The other men might have thought that John was the teller of tall tales but I had experienced his magic. I knew to take that boy seriously.

But that was not to be a night of answers.

"Go to sleep, Forty-seven," he said. "You need your rest."

Those words were like a blindfold being pulled over my eyes. No sooner than he said them I was in a deep sleep. I dreamed that I wore a cape made of redbird feathers and a crown made from broken slave chains. I marched from plantation to plantation and from each one a hundred and more slaves took their places behind me. Behind them the white men who had been our masters scratched their heads and watched us go.

The next three days passed in pretty much the same way. During the daylight hours Eighty-four, Tall John, and I picked cotton as a team. Eighty-four was completely infatuated with my friend. She was always touching his arm and grinning at him. He continued to flatter her, calling her pretty and beautiful even though I couldn't see (at that rime) what he saw in her.

They were both always laughing and grinning, except on the afternoon of the second day. That was when John asked Eighty-four about her babies.

"Tell me about your children, Tweenie," he said out of the blue. We were working on our eighth bag of cotton.

"I cain't talk about it," Eighty-four said with a tear in her voice. "It's a hurt in my heart."

"But maybe if you talk about it," John pressed, "then maybe you could stop it from hurtin'."

"You think so?" she asked. "'Cause you know I be thinkin' 'bout them all the time."

John stopped walking and even set down the half-filled sack of cotton. He put his hands on Eighty-four's shoulders and she went down on her knees like I've seen some women do when Brother Bob touched someone, saying that they were now one with the Holy Spirit.

John went down on his knees too and I looked around to make sure that no white man or Mud Albert was anywhere to see. I wanted to keep pulling cotton so that we didn't get in trouble but the hurt in Eighty-four's face made me mute.