This forest is strange to me; it’s not like the forest near my home, where the ancestors live. There are spirits here. I hear them and smell them. I don’t know if they are friendly.
Jos says we must trust in the Light. But the forest is dark; the moon is wasting and the stars have hidden their faces.
At first I was afraid and fought Jos when he came to fetch me. With my hands still tied I kicked and butted him and almost knocked him down. I thought I was about to be sold. Jos said no, he was my friend; he had always been my friend; he had come to help me escape. I knew he too was afraid: I could smell his sweat and hear his quick breathing. He untied me. He gave me bread and meat. Then he led me out of that bad place where I’d heard Miata cry to me for help – cry that she carried my child in her belly – out into the cold night and along the silent streets, past the dark huts of his people, into this forest.
To Jos, all forests are strange. He stumbles, snaps twigs, and is scratched by thorns. Night birds utter cries of alarm as we pass.
I put a hand on his arm. “Wait.” When we wait, the darkness lightens, and we begin to see. “Now step,” I say. “Feel first with thy foot. Step lightly.”
We reach a sheltered place near a stream. I hear its voice as it runs over stones.
Jos says, “There are fish here; I’ve seen them in the daytime.”
He tells me I should hide in these woods until they stop searching for me, then find a way to cross the river. He gives me a piece of paper with marks and pictures on it. He says it is a map he has drawn for me. In the faint light his finger makes a journey across the map. He tells me what the marks mean. He says with this map I can find Miata.
I say to him, “Jos, thou’rt my brother.” We embrace each other, and he asks God to take care of me. Then he leaves. For a while I hear him, noisy, breaking branches; then I am alone.
There is thick undergrowth here. I crawl beneath it and shelter till sunrise wakes me. The morning forest fills with the voices of birds. I walk to the stream, strip naked and bathe. I wash away the smell of the ship, the prison room, my own fear.
I look at the thing called a map. I make a little bag of bark pinned with thorns. I fold the map small, small, and put it inside. Then I make a plaited cord of grass and hang the bag around my neck. This bag will protect me and take me to Miata.
I shall wait here, as Jos told me. I’ll lie low, make a hide of leaves and branches, catch fish, find grubs and leaves to eat.
But first, I will make an offering to the spirits of this place.