Page 17 of Camino Ghosts

And far away, or as far as she could see at that moment, there was a dark speck of land. Dark Isle, the place of her birth, the resting place of her people, sacred ground for her. She owned it, as her people had for many years. They had fought off the white men with spears and clubs and then guns. They had shed tears and blood and never surrendered.

It was no surprise that the white men were back now, threatening once again. It would be her last stand. She was too old to fight much longer. And, if they were successful now, and they flattened and paved the island and threw up buildings, there would be nothing left for her, nothing to keep fighting for.

The fight would not be fair. They had the power and the money.

She had nothing but the curse. Nalla’s curse.

4.

After a rigorous day of loafing on the beach, the newlyweds retired to the shade of their porch and a glass of lemonade. The July sun was still white hot and had scattered most of the beachcombers. It was time for either a nap or a swim in a pool. Mercer’s cottage had no pool, so she settled on the notion of a nap. Thomas, after a month of matrimonial bliss, was worried that being married might cause him to gain weight. They were certainly burning their share of calories around the house and they ate and drank as little as possible. Most of his married buddies, though, had gradually chubbed-up over the years. Mercer assured him he looked just fine. Nevertheless, he had bought a new dirt bike and enjoyed riding in the surf at low tide. He said he’d be back in an hour.

She dozed for moment, then had a thought. Nalla’s story was fixed in her mind and hard to shake. At random times, Mercer would remember a scene and practically stop in her tracks. She was working on a book proposal to send to her agent but it was far from finished. In fact, she still wasn’t sure how and where to begin. Thomas had convinced her to tell the real story and stay away from fiction. The truth was fascinating enough, and the twist of a corporate land grab made it so compelling it was almost irresistible.

One scene haunted her.

5.

Nalla and the other women and children were fed and clothed. One of the men was Joseph, who was slightly older and seemed to command the respect of the others. He was also from the Kongo and spoke Bantu.

Nalla told their story of the slave ship and the storm. The capture, kidnapping, and voyage across the ocean were experiences they knew well. How could they forget?

Nalla had plenty of questions of her own. Joseph explained that they, the only inhabitants of the island, were runaway slaves from Georgia, where slavery was legal. They were now in Florida, Spanish soil where slavery had not been legalized and runaways were safe. Nalla and the others from the Venus had been lucky enough to wash ashore on Spanish territory.

Will the white men find us here?

It’s possible, Joseph said. The men who own the ship will most likely come looking for survivors. However, the Spanish don’t like the British and they skirmish all the time along the border. Joseph spoke to a young man, one with a rifle. He pointed to it and explained that if the slave hunters set foot on their island there would be a bloody fight. They, the former slaves, were not going back. They would fight to the end and would die on their island.

Joseph had been captured and sold when he was seventeen years old. He came ashore in Savannah and was sold to a family that owned a large plantation where they grew rice, peanuts, and cotton. He lived and worked there for almost twenty years and learned to read and write and speak English. Compared to most owners, the master was a fair man who wanted his slaves to become Christians. He allowed an older slave to teach the children the basics. The overseer, though, was a cruel man who enjoyed using the whip. All the slaves in Georgia, especially in the southern part, dreamed of escaping to Florida. Joseph saw an opportunity and ran away. That was about ten years ago. He made it to the island, their island, and was welcomed by the others. There were about fifty then. Now, the number had doubled.

Joseph waved his hand at his people. You are welcome here.

There was a commotion at the trail. Half a dozen African men appeared and were dragging three white men, all of them dirty and bloodied. They were bound at the wrists with their hands behind them and a bamboo pole rammed between their bent elbows.

“We found them,” one of the Africans said. “Hiding in the woods near the water. They are from the ship.” The people surrounded the white men and waited for Joseph to inspect them. A boy handed him a heavy stick.

The men were unshaven, filthy, and shoeless. Their ragged clothes were stained with blood. Cuts, knots, and insect bites covered their arms and legs. “Stand up,” Joseph said. They awkwardly struggled to their feet.

Nalla inched forward in the crowd for a closer look at the man in the middle. It was the one they called Monk, her rapist. She covered her mouth with her hands and gawked in disbelief. He saw her, made eye contact, then looked away.

“Where are you from?” Joseph demanded, toying with the stick.

“Virginia,” one of them said.

“So you know English. You are colonists.”

Two of them nodded. Monk stared at his gnarly feet.

Nalla stepped forward, took the stick from Joseph, and clubbed Monk three times on the head, each blow drawing blood and painful grunts. The villagers were startled by the attack. Then she hit him again and again and he fell to the ground. Loosa, another woman from the ship, stepped forward, took the stick from Nalla, and began beating one of the other two. Nalla whispered to Joseph and explained that the men had repeatedly raped them on the ship. It was time for revenge.

Joseph explained this to the others. Some of the other women began crying because they too had suffered the same assaults on their voyages over.

Joseph began barking commands. Ropes made of aged tree vines and slumber grass were wrapped around the ankles of the three captives. They were hung by their feet from the same branch of elm tree in the center of the village. The younger mothers took the children to their homes.

Nalla began chanting in an unknown tongue and walking in tiny steps in circles around the men. Everyone else backed away. They recognized what was happening and gave her plenty of room. She began an odd little dance on her toes as she swayed and chanted and bounced around the men. Her eyes were closed and she was in another world.

A witch doctor stepped from the crowd and placed a wooden bowl and long knife on the ground. He said something to her and she nodded as if to say thanks. She continued her ritual, her dance, her curse. The voodoo was in her blood, passed down from her mother and grandmothers.

The three white men, upside down, were suffering intensely and watching Nalla as best they could. When it was time, she placed the wooden bowl under Monk’s head, who squirmed but had no place to go. She held the knife high for all to see and kissed it. Then she squatted, grabbed his mangy hair, spat a curse in her African tongue, and sliced his throat.

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