Me and the Preacher wandered ’round the carnival for ’bout another hour. Then we walked back into the Atlas Clearing and headed for a tent where most of the carnival workers were sitting. A big, rough-looking white man with bright red hair stood up and put his hand on the Preacher’s chest and said, “Show’s over, boy. We’s pulling up stakes tonight and don’t need no more workers.”
The Preacher slapped the man’s hand off his chest and stood so his jacket was open and that mystery pistol was showing. He said, “I look like a boy to you? I’m not here about work. I’m looking for the owner. And if you put another hand on me you’ll be pulling back a bloody stump.”
The tall conjurer-man with the two sets of eyes jumped up and said, “Hold on a moment, Red. I own this carnival, sir. How may I help you?”
The Preacher pushed past the red-hair white man and said, “Sir, I just want to start by telling you what a wonderful carnival you have here.”
The conjurer reached his hand to the Preacher and said, “Why, thank you, sir. Whom do I have the honour of addressing?”
“I’m the Right Reverend Deacon Doctor Zephariah Connerly the Third. A pleasure to meet you, sir.”
“Reverend Connerly, I am humbled to be in your presence. I am the lowly Charles Mondial Vaughn the Fourth, Knight Commander of the Most Honourable Order of the Bath. Knighted a mere fourteen years ago.”
The Preacher said, “I’m the one who’s humbled, sir. I’ve been to many such carnivals and have never seen anything that matches this one. You must be very proud.”
“Indeed, indeed. I’ve worked years to assemble this family.”
The Preacher said, “Which is why I wanted to speak with you.”
The conjurer took a long pull on his cigar and blowed the smoke to the side, then said, “And what may I do for you, sir?”
“It’s more what I can do for you.”
“I’m intrigued. Do tell.”
The Preacher pulled me from behind him and said, “Sir Charles, allow me to introduce the most amazing child ever to have lived in Buxton. Although he was born and reared in Africa, he has lived with me for these past four years. Maybe in your travels you’ve heard of the tribe he’s from, the Chochotes?”
Sir Charles said, “Can’t say that I have.”
“There’s a good reason you haven’t. Sad to say, little Ahbo here is the last surviving member.”
“Well, Reverend, that is indeed sad, but what does that have to do with my carnival?”
The Preacher commenced waving his arms, really warming into this tale he’s ’bout to spin. “The Chochotes were fierce warriors who hunted and even fished with nothing but stones. Stone throwing was a skill passed from generation to generation, and little Ahbo’s father, who was the king of the Chochotes, passed on the secrets of stone hunting and fishing to his son just before he was tragically murdered.”
The Preacher sounded so heart-busted about this that even I was getting sad for little Ahbo, and I knowed that he was me and that there waren’t probably gonna be a lick of truth in the whole story.
The conjurer said, “Pity that. But wait, do I understand you to be saying that this boy can catch a fish underwater? By throwing a stone?”
The Preacher said, “If only we were at a lake so he could show you.”
The conjurer winked at the big, rough, red-hair white man and said, “If he can do that, he must have an unusually keen eye. Could he, mayhap, demonstrate his skill some other way?”
“Of course he can. I watched your Madame Sabbar earlier tonight, and while she was most impressive, I didn’t see her doing anything little Ahbo couldn’t match.”
“No?”
“No. Perhaps we could go to her tent and show you.”
“Well, sir, we were actually preparing to break things down, but I think little Ahbo might provide an interesting, but brief, diversion.”
The Preacher, Sir Charles, and the other white man started walking toward the slingshot lady’s tent with me trailing behind.
The conjurer looked back at me and said loud and slow, “Do … you … speak … any … English?”
It was kind of hard to look at him with his two sets of eyes, but I said, “Why, yes, sir, and some Latin, and I can understand a little Greek.”
Oops! That must’ve been too much talking. The Preacher gave me a hard look then told the conjurer, “Plus, of course, he’s fluent in Chochote.”
One of the conjurer’s eyebrows raised up and he said, “Indeed? To my ear it sounds as if the boy is very Canadian.”
“That’s because not only is he the best stone flinger since David, he’s also uncommonly bright. He’s lived with me for only four years and he’s picked up the language and customs of Canada West so quickly it’s truly astounding.”
All the sudden a stranger boy came up ’longside of me and gave me some unpleasant looks. His hair was all matted up like a bird’s nest and his clothes were so dirty that not even Cooter would’ve been caught dead in ’em.
He said, “Who you?”
I just ’bout said my name then remembered what Sammy had told me ’bout saying “Elijah” ’round here. I knowed the boy waren’t from Buxton and I was pretty sure he waren’t from Chatham but I couldn’t be total for certain. I thought it’d be best if I didn’t take no chances. He was littler than me so I said, “Why you want to know?”
He said, “Where y’all going?” He sounded American.
“Over to the slingshot lady’s tent.”
The boy spit, kicked his bare foot at the dirt, and said, “I knowed it!”
I could tell he was sizing me up to see if he could lick me. I puffed my chest up some whilst we walked.
The boy said quiet, “I’s the real MaWee! But you’s fixing to take my place, ain’t you?”
“What?”
“That white boy waren’t no good, I seent it, so now Massa Charles looking for you to take my place.”
He tilted his head toward the conjurer and said, “He done tolt me it was just for whilst we’s in Canada, but I knowed he was a-lying.”
“Lying ’bout what?”
“You’s trying to be the next MaWee, ain’t you?”
“What?”
“But I’m-a tell you right now that you ain’t gunn like it. You ain’t gunn like roaming ’bout with ’em one bit. They ain’t gunn say nothing at first but you gunn have to clean all them animal cages and fetch for ’em all times of the day or night, and the ’gator man gunn beat you every chance he get and you gunn be cleaning all they clothes, and they stingy with what they feed you, and it even ain’t no fun after ’while getting hit in the face with them grapes neither.”
I said, “I’m not taking no one’s place. The Preacher’s just bragging on me so’s that man with all those eyes can see how good I chunk stones.”
The boy gave me another rough look.
I said, “You travel ’round with these people?”
“Course I do, I tolt you, I’m the real MaWee.”
“Your ma and pa travel with you too?”
“I ain’t got no ma nor pa.”
“You a orphan?”
“You best watch what you’s calling me. What’s a orphan?”
I said, “How old are you?”
“I ain’t sure.”
“You ain’t had no schooling atall?”
“What I need schooling for? You ax too much questions.”
“Who takes care of you?”
“Massa Charles do. He look after me good. He done paid more’n a hunnert dollars for me down in Loos-ee-anna.”
“Paid? You’re a slave?”
“Naw! I seent how slaves get treated. I ain’t no slave.”
“You ain’t never tried to escape?”
“What you mean? If Massa cut me a-loose, what’s I gunn eat? Where’s I gunn sleep?”
“But this is Canada! You ain’t but three miles from Buxton! You ain’t never heard of Buxton?”
“Massa Charles say Buxton why he have to get a white boy to pretend he MaWee. He say y’all up here ain’t gunn think it funny to see me get pelt with no grapes. Now he seent that white boy ain’t no good and he gunn try you next.”
I told him, “My ma and pa ain’t ’bout to let me travel with no circus. Buxton’s my home.”
The inside of Madame Sabbar’s tent looked a whole lot smaller without all the people piled up in it. Madame Sabbar herself was sitting on the stage smoking a cigar.
MaWee pointed at the white cloth atop the jungle board and whispered, “Can y’all read? What that say?”
I told him, “It says, ‘The Jungles of Sweden.’”
“It don’t say nothing ’bout MaWee?”
“No.”
“That what I thought. He lie!”
The Preacher and the conjurer stopped talking and Sir Charles told MaWee, “Go light the candles as if it’s a show.”
“Yes, sir!”
MaWee struck a match and set all the candles on the board burning.
“Them other ones too, boss?”
“Yes, everything.”
MaWee grabbed a lighting pole and went ’round the tent lighting the candles up high. When he was done he came back and said, “That all, boss?”
“Yes, MaWee, but don’t leave. We’re getting started in a moment.”
“Yes, sir, boss.”
“Now, Reverend Connerly, perhaps little Ahbo can demonstrate his skill.”
The Preacher waved for me to come up on the stage.
He whispered to me, “First time through, just use your right hand.”
This waren’t gonna be nothing! It waren’t even twenty paces twixt me and the candles that were sitting atop the Swedish jungle board. I reached in my tote sack and pulled out ten of the chunking stones and set them on the table next to me.
I looked at the Preacher and he ducked his head at me. I held on to my breathing and chunked with my right hand and passed stones into it with my left.
When I was done, all the candles had been put out just as smooth as the slingshot lady had done it.
The conjurer and the other white man looked at each other. Madame Sabbar blowed a long cloud of smoke out of her nose holes. The Preacher winked his eye at me.
MaWee called out, “Woo-ooo-ooo-wee! He good, Massa Charles! Y’all caint use him for nothing but tossing stones, he that good!”
The conjurer said, “You’re right, MaWee, that was most remarkable! Now how ’bout the others?” He pointed at the higher-up candles.
This waren’t gonna be as easy. The farthest candles appeared to be ’bout thirty, thirty-five paces away, and it was dark up that high.
The Preacher saw I was fretting and came up on the stage.
“What’s wrong?”
“I don’t know if I can put out the flames on the two at the back, sir.”
“Just aim to knock them down, then.”
“Yes, sir. Just my right hand again?”
“Yes.”
I held on to my breathing and threw at the twelve candles runged ’round the tent. When I was done, one of ’em at the back had got knocked over and I’d clean missed on the one over the doorway.
Sir Charles and the other white man brung their heads together and started talking.
MaWee said, “Massa Charles, Massa Charles! You got to have that boy take over from Missy Sabbar! He good ’nough to take her place!”
The Preacher said, “And that’s not half the story, Sir Charles. No disrespect intended, madame, but while you are without doubt a deadly accurate slingshotist, little Ahbo’s skills include something else.”
The Preacher’s hands started unfolding and waving right along with the story. He said, “One of the reasons the Chochote tribe is now nearly wiped from the face of the earth is that they shared their land with an insect so vile that it is called the horrible giant Bama bee. Bees so large that they’ve been known to carry away a full-grown man as easily as a hawk carries a mouse. And they attack in swarms of ten, which forced the Chochote to learn to throw not only with accuracy but with speed as well. Might I propose, if she is not too tired, that Madame Sabbar and little Ahbo have a side-by-side demonstration that includes speed?”
Sir Charles said, “A race? Why, that might prove to be quite interesting. Madame?”
The slingshot lady didn’t look too happy ’bout doing this but she chomped her teeth on her cigar and stood next to me.
The Preacher said, “If the young boy could light the ten candles on the board again, we can get this started.”
MaWee waited till Sir Charles nodded at him then lit up all the candles.
The Preacher said, “Why doesn’t the madame pick one side of the board and put out candles toward the middle and little Ahbo will do the same with the other side. We’ll see who puts out the most the quickest.”
The woman chomped her cigar harder and said, “Left.” She raised her slingshot.
The Preacher whispered to me, “Use both hands. Beat her good.”
He told Sir Charles, “You start them.”
The conjurer-man said, “Both of you start on the count of three. One … two …”
Folks from Sweden must not be real good at counting. The conjurer hadn’t even finished saying “two” afore Madame Sabbar put out the first candle on the left.
“… three!”
I throwed left, right, left, right, left, right.
I’d got six of ’em in the time she got four.
She spit her cigar out on the stage and said, “Light them candles up again, you little fool.”
MaWee waited on the conjurer to nod then lit ’em all up.
This time I got seven and she got three. She knocked one of ’em over too.
She dropped her slingshot and walked out of the tent.
MaWee shouted, “Ooo-ooo-wee! He done run her off! He way better than her, you gunn let him take her place?”
The conjurer said, “My word, Reverend, you didn’t exaggerate in the least. I think little Ahbo will fit very nicely into our family.”
MaWee said, “He gunn take her place, boss? I ain’t never seent no one what throwed so good! Lots of folks pay to see that boy throw! It be a waste of time having him get pelt with grapes.”
The conjurer said, “Start breaking things down in here, boy. I want to leave by noon tomorrow. Red, go see if Madame Sabbar is all right. Reverend, we need to talk.”
Him and the Preacher stood next to the stage.
Sir Charles said, “I assume you’ve had some expenses in raising little Ahbo. I’m willing to give you some consideration for that. You say the poor lad is an orphan?”
“Yes, I’m the only one he has.”
“How much are you looking for, sir?”
The Preacher said, “Hold on here, you’ve misjudged me. I don’t deal in human beings.”
“Then what is it you’re proposing?”
“The boy and I would be willing to travel with you for a while if you’re willing to make certain guarantees.”
“Such as?”
“Such as how much we would be paid. Such as what it is we would do in your family. Such as what it is we wouldn’t do.”
Sir Charles blowed out another long puff of cigar smoke at the roof of the tent and said, “Ahh, well, Reverend, what is it you propose doing? I can see that little Ahbo would be able to carry his weight and contribute to the family with his stone throwing, augmented, of course, by several other chores, but I really do not have a need for anyone else. I would, however, handsomely reward you for your transference of guardianship of the boy.”
MaWee’d pulled all the candles off the top of the Sweden jungle board. He said, “Pardon me, boss, you wants me to take this sign ’bout that white boy off of here? We gunn put it back saying this here’s the real MaWee’s jungle, ain’t we?”
The conjurer-man kept his eyes on the Preacher but nodded his head at MaWee.
MaWee pulled off the white sheet that said THE JUNGLE OF SWEDEN!!!
Writ out underneath the sheet in letters di-rect on the board was:
The Jungles of Darkest Africa!!!
Help Madame Sabbar Capture MaWee,
the Chief of the Pickaninnys!!!
All the sudden the Preacher was done talking. He grabbed hold of my collar and we marched out the front of the tent. Afore you could blink we’re walking down the road back to Buxton.
Things happened so quick that I had to ask the Preacher, “Why’d we leave without saying good-bye to no one?”
He said, “It wasn’t what I thought it was.”
“What’d you think it was? Waren’t it just a carnival?”
“Forget this happened. It was a bad idea from the start.”
“What was?”
“Nothing, Elijah. I was simply looking for a way to help the Settlement.”
I tried a couple more times but I waren’t getting no more explaining from the Preacher. It ’peared he didn’t want to talk no more, which I look at as he wanted to do some listening, so I told him all ’bout Sammy and how scared I was ’bout getting floated away and ’bout how Sir Charles paid a hundred American dollars for MaWee. I kept on talking all the way to Buxton but the only subject the Preacher seemed to take any kind of interest in atall was MaWee. He had me tell him ’bout it three times. I asked the Preacher if you were still a slave if you didn’t mind working for someone and didn’t have nowhere else to go.
Only thing he said was, “Yes, you’re still a slave. But you’re worse than a slave. You’re an ignorant slave.”
When we got home, the Preacher waited whilst I climbed in through my bedroom window. Once I got in I waved at him and he waved back and walked away. It waren’t till I was in bed thinking ’bout the most exciting day I’d ever had in my life that it came to me that the Preacher’d headed back down the road to Chatham ’stead of toward his own home. That was just as peculiar as a whole lot of the things the Preacher did that night. I just chalked it up to some more of that growned-up behaviour that don’t make no sense, it don’t make no sense atall.
On Monday morning, me and Cooter joined up in front of the schoolhouse. I was ’bout to explode wanting to tell him some more ’bout the carnival, but afore I could open my mouth he said, “Don’t it seem odd ain’t no one else here? Doggone-it-all, Elijah, the same thing happened to me last month when I lost track of the days and sat out here for a half a hour on Sunday morning wondering where everyone was at. Today is Monday, ain’t it?”
“Yes, don’t you ’member sitting in church all day yesterday?”
“So where’s every …”
We both heard someone say, “Oooh!” and walked ’round back of the school. All the other children were crowded up in a big circle way out in the field. Wouldn’t no one dare fight this close to the school so me and Cooter ran over to see what the commotion was.
I said, “I bet they found another dead body!”
Cooter said, “Uh-uh, Emma Collins is standing there and she’d have run off and told someone first thing. I bet one n’em moth lions from that circus you was telling me ’bout busted loose and they’s holding him down till someone come to get it.”
I looked at Cooter and couldn’t help hoping that thickheadedness ain’t something you can catch like a cold.
When we busted into the circle it waren’t neither a dead body nor a lion. ’Twas a little stranger boy standing there looking like he’s ’bout to cry.
I knowed this boy, but I couldn’t get ahold on from where.
Then it hit me. ’Twas MaWee! Somebody had cut all his wild hair off and put him in some proper clothes.
I said, “You escaped! You’re free!”
’Twaren’t odd for folks that just got freed to look and act confused, but I hadn’t never saw no one that looked and acted like they were mad ’bout coming to live in Buxton afore. And MaWee was good and mad. Why, he was pouting and looking like he had rocks in his jaws and was grumbling so’s everyone was wondering if he was crazy.
Emma Collins asked him, “What? You’re wishing you hadn’t escaped? You’re wishing you were still a slave?”
MaWee rubbed his hand over the top of his head like he was still wondering where all his hair was at.
“I done tolt you I waren’t no slave. And I didn’t do no escaping neither. I gots snatched off by his friend!”
He pointed spot-on at me.
I said, “What?”
“After y’all left, your friend come back and stoled me from Massa Charles.”
I couldn’t help myself, I knowed I should’ve kept my mouth shut, but I said, “The Preacher?”
MaWee said, “Preacher? He sure don’t act like no preacher I ever seen.”
Cooter said, “What happened?”
“Soon’s we got done breaking everything down, that friend of his bust in holding on to two guns and set to pistol-whipping Massa Red. Then he grab Massa Charles’ hair like he ’bout to scalp him. He shoves one n’em guns right in Massa Charles’ nose.
“We all thinking it gunn be another stickup and boss is sure afeared of this man and say, ‘Ain’t no need to hurt no one, just take the money.’ But that there boy’s friend …” MaWee pointed right at me. “… say he ain’t looking to rob us and then he point the gun what ain’t jammed up Massa Charles’ nose dead at me! He tell the ’gator man he gots one minute to tie my hands up. All the time he got that pistol up in Massa Charles’ nose so deep, blood running down his face.”
Tears were pouring out of MaWee’s eyes. “Once the ’gator man got me roped good, that preacher tell ’em this here’s Canada and folks is free and he taking me to Buxton and he gunn kill anyone what try to stop him. Then he tell Massa Charles that once we gets to Buxton, y’all’s army gunn make sure don’t no one come and try to get me back. He say he got him the fastest horse in Canada tied out in the woods but it waren’t gonna be no different if he had a old broke-down mule ’cause he ain’t gunn gallop him nor trot him nor rush him atall. He say he ain’t ’bout to run from no one, ’specially not in his own country. Then he tell Massa Charles the way to come if he want to find where y’all live. He tell ’em that the road to Buxton branch off to the right ’bout half a mile down and if they daft ’nough to follow him and wants to meet the Lord that bad, then that the way they gots to turn.”
Everybody was looking shocked at MaWee’s story.
He wiped his nose on his shirtsleeve and said, “Then he pull me outta the tent and tug me off into the woods and put me on top that pretty horse and tie me to the saddle and tie them reins ’round his waist and put one n’em pistols in each his hands and we starts walking right down the middle of the road.
“I just knowed Massa Charles and them gunn come rescue me and I’m hoping when they kill that man they aims good and they don’t shoot me by mistake.”
MaWee kicked at the ground and said, “Only thing I can figure is they took the wrong branch once they come to where the road split up at. But don’t none y’all be surprise if they come busting in that there schoolhouse and take me back with ’em.”
Emma Collins said, “Why’re you wishing for that? You’re free now.”
MaWee said, “How’s I free when they tolt me I ain’t got no choice but to go to school? How’s I free when they got that Johnny boy and his momma watching over me like a sheriff?”
The bell runged and it came to me that I was gonna have to be careful with MaWee. If Emma Collins or one n’em other girls got wind that I was wandering ’bout past midnight at the carnival they’d get me stewed up in a world of trouble.
As we walked up the steps into the schoolhouse, Mr. Travis said, “Good morning, scholars, strivers, and questers for a better future! Are you ready to learn, are you ready to grow?”
He saw MaWee and said, “Well! Congratulations! They told me you’d be joining us today. Welcome, young man.”
I could tell being free was gonna be a hard row to hoe for MaWee. ’Stead of answering Mr. Travis in the proper way he, bold as anything, said to him, “How many people in y’all’s army anyway?”
Children jumped to the side and cleared out of the way so’s not to interfere with Mr. Travis getting a proper snatch at MaWee. But Mr. Travis surprised us. He didn’t cane MaWee nor scold him nor ’buke him in the least. He gentle laid his hand on MaWee’s head and, without no sting in his voice atall, said, “My name is Mr. Travis. When I call on you to speak you will address me as that or as ‘sir.’ I have a feeling you and I are going to be spending a great deal of time together. Once again, welcome and congratulations.”
MaWee said, “Thank you, sir.” Both me and him kept peeking out the window all through the day waiting for Sir Charles and the rough, red-hair white man to come. But they never did show.