1831
The four of them—Thomas, Hark, Benjamin Phipps, and Nat—took over the ship’s deck, waving their swords. They sailed the seven seas searching for pirates’ treasure. Ahoy! They sailed in search of newfound lands.
But they were no longer boys. They were men now struggling with the things of men. Thomas Gray wasted the freedom for which so many others prayed.
Nat Turner imagined that if he were free, he would choose and read whatever books he liked. He would read until his eyes were dimmed.
He would be an inventor and he and his family would travel the world. He would travel from church to church reminding people that their freedom was a gift from God they should not waste. He would use each opportunity that freedom afforded; he would wring life until it was dry. He would not waste it.
If she were free, he imagined that his mother would fly back to her beloved Ethiopia and find the family left behind. If Mother Easter were free, she would not scrub any more floors and maybe she would learn to read and open a dress shop. He could imagine Hark and even Will becoming gentlemen farmers or maybe shop owners. “I think it is a sin to waste your life, Thomas.”
“What do you know of my life, Nat?”
“I know that white men only listen to other white men.”
Thomas rose and stood in front of him. “I am your friend, Nat Turner, and it is cruel of you to accuse me. Though I would be disowned and beaten myself if others saw me, a white man, speaking to you this way, sharing books with you, I come here to listen to you as a friend. It wounds me that you think of me with so little care.” Thomas Gray pulled at the vest he wore. “We are talking about you and me, Nat. I try to speak with you as an equal, as no other white man would, but you mock me. I think you take me for granted.”
“You hear but you don’t listen. We only listen to those we love and respect.”
Thomas’s forehead reddened when he was angry, just as it had when he was a boy. “We are lifelong friends; of course I care for you. I risk my reputation for you!”
“When I speak my thoughts to you, Thomas, unless I agree with your thoughts, you tell me I am wrong. We do not reason together.”
“What you say is outlandish. When I disagree, I am trying to help you, Nat. Is there no room for me to help you? Can I not correct you?”
“Do you honestly believe that only you know the truth? Do you honestly believe that God only speaks to you?”
“You make me sound arrogant, Nat.” Thomas smirked. “Besides, I have never said that God speaks to me. That honor belongs to you, I think.”
They had been friends a lifetime, but there seemed so wide a gulf between them. “When you tell me how it feels to be a white man, when you write or speak about how you feel, I listen. I say to myself, ‘Ah, this is how my friend feels,’ and I try to understand.
“When I tell you how it feels to be a black man or share something I have written with you, you tell me I am wrong—unless my thoughts match your own. You disagree unless I think what you believe I should.”
“This is ridiculous. Do you wish to cause trouble between us? How can you say I don’t respect you, Nat Turner? I have told you that you are one of the smartest natural men I’ve known… perhaps the smartest. But I don’t understand you… or this anger I think I see.”
Nat Turner tried to calm himself, to quiet his heart. He had not meant to show so much passion. But he had been pressed down so long, held in chains so long. “I have never been a scion, a plantation owner, or a slave owner. So I listen for you to describe it to me, to help me understand.”
Thomas Gray’s expression was both earnest and perturbed. He sat beside Nat Turner again.
“You have never been a slave, never beaten. You have never gone without enough in your stomach. You have never been bound so that you could not set your own course. When I tell you what it is like for me, you tell me I am wrong. To be right, I must see my world as you imagine it. Otherwise you call me misguided and impatient. You tell me it is not that bad, never having been lashed or spit on. You believe it’s not bad because you have never had your wife and child stolen.” He felt a burning in the pit of his stomach, felt his hands clenching.
“‘We give you plenty to eat,’ white men say as though they feel the emptiness in our stomachs. ‘You people do not have hearts; you don’t know love,’ they tell us as they steal and sell our families away.
“I don’t know what it is to be above, to be in front, to be the one whose favor everyone wants to court. But I do know what it is to be despised. As my friend, I want you to listen, to try to understand how I feel without telling me I am wrong.”
Thomas was silent. He did not look at Nat. He looked past him. “I am only trying to encourage you. I am trying to help you not to be morose.”
“I have every reason to be morose! If you want to help me not be miserable, then help free me! Don’t tell me I am wrong—join with me to change my circumstances, loose my bonds.”
Thomas Gray sighed. “What you ask of me is too hard for one man.”
“You romanticize slavery because it serves you. If you are my friend, care enough to make my heartbreak your own. Be willing to be poor so I can be free. If you are my friend, raise your voice, raise your pen to set me free! You choose to not understand because it benefits you. You don’t have to help me because you discount me because you think I am inferior to you—it is easier to believe God meant this life for me than to stand up and do something about it. We give our lives to make you rich; risk your life to set us free!”
“You wound me, Nat Turner. You push me too far.”
“I know what I say is not safe, my friend. The safe thing is to tell you what you want to hear, to be Red Nelson. But that is not the honest thing. That is not the truth. And is that what you really want, for me to be a buffoon like Red Nelson?
“If a nail goes in my foot and it hurts, you understand; we have this pain in common. But you seem not to want to understand that a burden too heavy for your back is also too heavy for mine. My heart hopes like yours. My heart breaks when you steal my son as yours would if your daughter were stolen.”
Thomas rose and turned away.