In a World Similar to our Own (Part 2)

--4--

"Shouldn't a boy your age be in the field at this hour of the day?" inquired the stranger.

"Reck'n so, Sir." Atam mumbled. He didn't want anything to do with the free man because he knew any relationship could only lead to trouble. They moved with great haste back through the village and out into the dirt clearing. He had no choice except to take the free man to the holy man Daddy Roshka as requested, but in doing so felt certain he would soon feel the flogging whip.

The stranger managed to keep pace with his young guide.

"Aren't you afraid that you will be found out and whipped? Or perhaps you have a pass. At any rate, I've noticed heavy handed discipline on this here property. It's not a good thing."

Feeling that this odd stranger was somehow opposed to physical punishment surprised Atam. Perhaps this was one of the free holy men. Perhaps the free man was attempting trickery.

"I ain't afraid ta' take no lash. If I take one lash, then take one lash on anudder day, then one lash some udder day… after awhile one lash won't hurt me no mo'. The mo' lashes I take, the mo' tough I get. Shucks, I can take one lash without make'n no noise. Cause around here they gonna find reason to whip us, Sir. My father told me times and I seen myself. The way it is fo' us souls."

The stranger was led across the clearing where two overseers on horseback galloped past without incident other than suspiciously staring. The 'house of worship', as the stranger had termed it, was no more than a wood cabin of splintered and split planks. The entrance of the large hut had no door and obvious heavy traffic and hot weather had killed all grass within the vicinity, give or take a lonely batch of weeds here or there. The interior of the shabby structure was empty, as far as could be seen from outside under the blinding sun, and the inner floor was the same dried dirt which surrounded the outside. The exterior area was littered by seat size chunks of sawed tree logs and various boxes of rotten wood. Sitting on one of the tree stumps was the plantation preacher.

Daddy Roshka, an obese soul, was gazing out over the fields and puffing harshly on a corn cob pipe as Atam and the stranger approached. Daddy Roshka was a soul winkled by time with the lower portion of his face covered by dense facial hair. Though the old man's head was shaved like all other souls, his appointment by the "massa" as spiritual leader among the souls exempted Daddy Roshka from many basic laws such as facial hair and having to work the fields. Many souls on the plantation learned about the three daughters of God from Daddy Roshka. But at the same time, some of the more course souls called Daddy Roshka a spy. Others, like Braham, held great disdain for the old preacher's constant proclamation of the free man's religion.

"Ah, young Atam. What in all grace are you doing out of da' fields?" asked Daddy Roshka in a half joking yet half concerned manner. The wrinkled preacher was dressed in flax pants rolled up just beneath the knee and a flax shirt tattered just above the elbow. Sandals, an oddity among souls, protected his feet and a rope necklace with a wooden religious image resembling a flame dangled from his neck.

"This here sur wanted me to show him da' church house." replied Atam. His father's dislike of Daddy Roshka had always made Atam suspicious of the old preacher.

Daddy Roshka clamped his pipe tightly between his crooked and partially missing teeth while studying the stranger. The observation that the man possessed virgin ears had an unnerving effect on the old preacher.

"But you is uh free man, Sur. What could'a free man possibly see here at our poor wood shack where only miserable souls pray? We got no robes, silver plates or alters here. All we got here is our faith."

"That is indeed my interest." the stranger replied.

Somewhat perplexed, Daddy Roshka played off the awkwardness by puffing smoke stacks from his pipe.

"Sur, it is uh honor ta' have you bestow uh visit ta' us righteous souls here. Of course, ya' might know if yous been in da' territory long, dat' der' is uh great church out in da' town. One of da' finest in da' West from what I been told. Ah, never da' less, we here pray to the daughters of God jus' the same. Atam, you been praying to the daughters of God like I taught ya', boy? Only da' daughters can forgive you of yo' sins and I know you ain't lacking in fresh ones."

The old minister had a habit of rubbing his 'mark' when speaking at length. It was a habit that he either could not break or did not wish to. Daddy Roshka's ear was by far the most hideous scar of mutilated flesh that marked any soul on the plantation. During many of his sermons he would often recall his early childhood years before being sold to "massa William's grandfather". In telling those stories to his scanty congregation of souls he would artfully describe the brutal methods of torture which his old master had applied to 'lazy' souls and emphasized the importance of giving thanks to the daughters of God for placing them in the hands of a good master such as "massa William".

Atam took to his heels at first opportunity with the slim hope of getting back into the fields unnoticed and without being whipped. The stranger, after leaning his head inside the 'church' for a quick examination, dropped his bundle on the ground next to one of the chopped logs and sat down across from Daddy Roshka. The view from there spanned a good portion of the plantation. The clearing which circled the estate house and stable could be seen to the left with fields of agriculture stretching out in all directions as far as the eye could see. Every field contained small armies of souls, each half naked and near heat exhaustion, working under the supervision of shotgun wielding overseers on horseback. The groups of souls using deep wicker baskets to collect crops consisted of men, women and children. In two of the fields left fallow by the yearly rotation a group consisting purely of male souls was chopping the dry soul and preparing to irrigate it. Another small gang of male souls were harnessing horses to a plough. Two turning windmills could be seen in the distance behind the estate house. The village where the souls slept was not included in the view.

"This is some view you have here." observed the stranger.

"Indeed, by da' grace of da' three daughters, it is." grunted Daddy Roshka. "Fo' many years I've watched my people from dis' spot. I've watched 'em work everyday. Twelve ta' fifteen hours uh day except da' blessed holy days. From dis' spot I've watched with my own eyes. Each son and daughter seem smaller in bone and weaker in strength than da's parents were. Each son and daughter more unhealthy than da' parents were. More and more babies born dead. Ah, da' original species must truly have been created in the image of God. Yet, I look now."

"That's strong passion, preacher" the stranger commented.

Daddy Roshka, suddenly remembering that the company he shared was that of a free man, checked himself.

"Massa William is da' best massa in all da' world, you know. There are horrors in da' form of massa's in dis' here world dat… ah, but I will bite my lip. I'm called Daddy Roshka by all dat' know me. I once worked the fields, but my back has made me a gimp. Now I teach every soul dat'll listen about the glory of the three daughters of God. Knowing da' three daughters is salvation in itself. But you, Sir, being a free man surely already know 'dis and are very blessed. I feel by teaching my people da' holy words of da' great book, like I was blessed to be taught by massa William, I do what da' daughters put me here to do."

"Do you really believe what you told the boy? About the three daughters of God forgiving sins?" the stranger asked.

Daddy Roshka studied the free man's face. This was not a typical free man and Daddy Roshka was beginning to think that the man might be a fugitive.

"I do. It say so in da' the great book. Do you believe different?"

"I believe in cause and effect, friend. I believe that every life must eventually answer to God for the deeds put into motion by it. Now let me ask you a question, preacher. Why do you, and I realize that you were taught, instruct followers to ask your three daughters of God for mercy instead of simply asking God the creator?"

An expression of confusion and alarm contorted Daddy Roshka's bloated face. If any soul would have dared to blaspheme like this, Daddy Roshka would have had them whipped outright. But again, this stranger was a free man.
"What a queer question you ask! Da' three daughters of God were God in human form. God in our image and walking among us. God came down from the heavens to be among his people in the form of da' three daughters. Dey' died in the fire for the sins of all people. It is all written in the great book." declared Daddy Roshka.

"The authors of that great book, as you call it, are unknown to historians. But common sense, if indeed you have read that book, should tell you that the words were written in antiquity and very far from here in another part of the world for another culture."
Daddy Roshka sat silent for a moment before responding.

"You is mistaken, sur. Do you feel alright, Sur? The heat is bad and you may need water. The great book is da' word of God for all people and cultures."

"Is it? Obviously your master didn't teach you history. The great book, as you call it, is used as a tool by the church. The Imperial Empire, which once ruled so much of this world, had the three sisters of Gahanna, who many people have been taught to call the daughters of God, executed by fire for their public praise of the one God and their public exclamation about the harsh oppression of the common people. Their teaching nearly started a revolution. Then two hundred years after assisting in the creation of a religion and a church deifying these three women, the same empire that murdered those three revolutionaries forced this religion on the masses to strengthen the caste and make the people submissive. When the Empire collapsed, the church survived and flourished. Now it knows no territory lines."

Daddy Roshka's mouth hung open as he listened. He realized that speaking out of line to a free man would earn him a severe beating or possibly his life, but he decided that his short time left in the world was well worth defending the faith and jumped to his feet.

"You blaspheme! A free man of all people! Why haven't 'dey wrapped a rope around your neck and hung you? Heretics much more soft spoken dan' you have been killed since da' wars of insurrection. You are a fugitive!" Daddy Roshka yelled.

"I confide in speaking with you as two men with allegiance only to God. I feel strongly that you are of the righteous, preacher. If only that unalterable faith was directed to only one God. But instead you pray and teach other souls to pray to trickery aimed at keeping souls slaves. The automatic forgiveness from your three daughters of God is what allows masters to feel no guilt for the oppression the produce and breed. And it tricks the oppressed into accepting their plight of servitude for fear of not getting into bliss upon death. Try and think clearly, because I understand that you have endured much in this world. Why would you deify three mortal women who walked and praised the one God on soil just like this soil here? The sisters of Gahanna accomplished many great deeds and taught many people about God, but God created those three prophets. Why not pray directly to God who created all life?"

Daddy Roshka was staring intently, but not absorbing any of the stranger's words. The old preacher, constantly attempting to intervene instead of listening, only wanted to respond.

"Even if I am beat ta' death fo' saying so, you have no faith and I feel sorry for you and da' mistake you make in rejecting da' three daughters of God as our Lords and saviors! Your rejection of da' three daughters as God among us will earn you eternal damnation! And I have never met uh free man dat' speaks 'dis way 'less 'dey had evil spirits in 'em."

"Make no mistake, preacher. My faith is strong. There is only one God who created all life. Why would God almighty take a daughter or a mother, or pick one group of people over another when it was God who created all? God is outside of our material realm. Omnipotent and unimaginable beyond our thoughts and certainly beyond any wood or gold icon created by men who were created by God.

"You have da' sickness in you!" Daddy Roshka cried.

"God created the heavens and everything within. God's energy flows through all his creations and gives those creations life, collectively becoming the image of God. Division of people is division of God. You and I are just as much the sons of God as the three daughters."

Daddy Roshka, bright red in the face and on the brink of outrage, was in such a fit of trembling that he hadn't even noticed that the free man had compared him as an equal.

"Damnation! You're possessed, heretic! But I will pray fo' you! I'll pray dat' you too might learn of da' great holy miracles which were done by the daughters of God while in 'dis here world!"

"You cling to your great book but have no idea who wrote it or where it came from because you have never been able to learn history. They have kept it from you. Can't you see the fiction of your great book? By deifying the three daughters of Gahanna instead of the one and only God, you place a barrier or a middle man between you and God. Think about child birth! That is a miraculous portent of God. The sky above is a miracle. Why demand supernatural miracles? Isn't life itself a miracle?" argued the stranger as calmly now as he had in the beginning of the conversation.

"Child birth? Dat' is no miracle! Da' daughters of God turned a river ta' blood. Da' daughters of God turned a plague of locust away from da' cities! They raised an army from the dead! I tell you dat' you have no faith, free man! These things happened! Da' three daughters are our Lord! Da' great book is da' word of God and da' church is da' body giv'n undastand'n to dat' word!"
"Must one call you a soul to your face in order to make you understand? You talk so high of the church, and I am stunned at your immovable belief in its teachings, but gather up some of the other souls and make a pilgrimage to the town church on a day of worship or on a holy day! They won't let you in because you are not a free man! Is that the body of God? And your good master will have you flogged as soon as he returns from that same town church. According to your church, your master can beat souls all week and automatically be forgiven by the daughters of God on worship day. That is the word of God?"

At this, Daddy Roshka lost control and nearly charged at the stranger.

"If you waddn't uh free man, I'd kill you. You are possessed by demons! Fo' many years I been watch'n souls, confused 'bout this here world, stray from the church teachings ta' words like da' ones you speak. And I seen 'em hung for it! I seen 'em burnt and beaten fo' being possessed by demons. I would never think dat' such heretic teachings, such lies, would come from the mouth of a free man! Get away from here, demon! The plantation massa will know about you!!"

--5--

The heated conversation between William and Templeton Capidolbred had continued on at length until reaching a climax which resulted in Templeton demanding to have his horses harnessed back to his carriage and refusing to stay on through dinner as originally planned. William had tried repeatedly to persuade his older brother to stay, but it was to no avail. After watching Templeton's carriage off William returned inside the main parlor where he took a seat on the grand piano with a glass of iced lemonade brought to him by a domestic. Before he realized it his fingers were eloquently working the ebony and ivory keys in slow rhythmic fashion. The melancholy music he created flowed throughout the entire room and out the open windows. If only mother was still alive to see the skills he had developed from her lessons, thought William as he played.

"William." a demanding female voice called out.

The music did not halt.

"William, are you ignoring me? Is that what this marriage has come to?"

The younger Capidolbred stopped his playing and looked up from the piano. A servant girl had earlier entered the parlor and disrupted the conversation between Capidolbred brothers. Now William's wife, Elizabeth, stood in the same place where the female soul had been. The daughter of DeWolf kept her thin grey arms folded and tapped her sandals hard against the polished wooden floor as she stared harshly at her husband. She was wearing a lengthy summer dress of thin yellow material, which was damp and clinging to her flabby grey body. A straw sun shading hat with a matching flower held her hair captive in order to showcase her full ears. Below the flower, which centered the head dress, was a once pretty face now aged and showing great irritation.

William sighed.

"No, dear. I am not ignoring you."

"Yes, I dare say that you are."

"Elizabeth, I am not ignoring you."

"Then pray tell me why I have had to summon you twice from the verandah? I've sent two different servants and yet you never took the time to see the needs of your wife."

William's attention had buckled on the straw sun shading hat which Elizabeth sported.

"Doesn't it hurt your head to tuck all of your hair that tight under that… new hat?" he asked her.

An infuriated groan burst from Elizabeth's lips and she flung her hands into the air and began to gesticulate wildly.

"You are impossible, William Capidolbred! Have you absolutely no respect at all for the woman you married? Your wife?"
William gave his wife's question reflection and a quick reply formed in his thoughts. He ceased loving Elizabeth long ago. If anyone in this world was impossible, it was her. Old man DeWolf had spoiled his only daughter during her youth and William had never succeeded in adjusting her habits to the changing times of the post war era. She was a woman dominated by whims and not one of those whims had ever been a desire to understand economics. Her disrespect for property could be summed up by her childish belief that any item could be replaced. It was exactly this attitude, mixed with the restlessness and boredom of an idle woman that fueled Elizabeth's constant torment of the souls. She would only nag and threaten the domestic souls, only occasionally backing up her threats because she had to look them in the eyes every day. But any reason she could find to have a field soul beaten would be readily found. The men souls especially feared her. One moment she would "accidentally" expose her flesh to them and the next she would have them flogged for looking. Of course, she wasn't the one who had to buy new souls to replace the dead ones and that was what angered William.

"Are you silent now?" Elizabeth cried out angrily.

Elizabeth would have continued raving if possible, but William had endured enough. He stood and addressed his wife in a deep and authoritative tone.

"I was on my way out to the verandah. What was it I was being summoned for, Elizabeth? You know very well that I am to be very busy. The entire estate is crumbling to the soil more and more each day and I have no time to wait hand and foot on your every whim."

In a show of great drama, Elizabeth froze. A feigned fit of sobbing followed, but didn't last very long.

"Oh, if daddy were still alive to hear how harsh the man he matched me with speaks to his only daughter! May he not hear from his place in everlasting bliss under the divine glory of the three daughters of God."

"Darling, I speak no harsher than your father would in our situation."

"Don't you dare compare yourself to my honorable father! You are a man who has no control over his souls! I saw that half naked little urchin up near the house again this morning with a piece of bread in its dirty little hands! Coming from the kitchen, the filthy little thing was!"

"Is that so?" asked William.

"That is so, William. Master Capidolbred! It is Lindsey who is to blame. She is the one giving the little wretch food and keeping the dirty little animal coming back for more. But since you won't lift a finger about this, I did. I had Lindsey punished."

"You went and had Lindsey whipped?" William questioned with irritation.

"Well, I certainly didn't enjoy having it done."

"Damn it, Elizabeth! The dinner guests calling on us this evening are not simple trade regulators or fellow land owners! They quite possibly will be the ones to force us under should I reject their offers!"

"Calm down, William, calm down. It's not like I had Lindsey thrashed. Only a few lashes to get my point across. Every plate will still be in the dinning hall at the proper time. I'll see to it that Lindsey has the required help, if indeed she is hurting too badly. But one thing I will not budge on is that I want that boy put to the whipping post!"

"If it is the soul I believe you refer to, he is just a boy." William rationalized.

This statement sent Elizabeth back on the offensive.

"Grief, William! Grief! That child is a soul and belongs to us as property no different from the rest of those animals! And every soul belongs at work in the fields during the daylight, not hanging outside the kitchen house begging for extra food! Soon it will be a group of them! Soon we will be in the fields! You yourself, husband, walk about to and fro everyday distraught over our crop production. Besides, it will certainly be better in the long run to teach that… boy… that he is our property before the little heathen grows up to be like his birth father. His father is the devil that spreads so much venomous blasphemy against the three daughters of God throughout our property. Not that any uncivilized heathen soul could ever actually be accepted into the everlasting bliss of the afterlife under the three daughters of God, but that soul's father creates much dissent among the other souls with those lies. Why haven't you hung by the neck, William?"

"I have Daddy Roshka keeping a close eye on Braham. It does appear that some of the souls refuse to listen to Daddy Roshka anymore, no doubt due to Braham. I should never have sold his wife away. It was only after selling her that he started making trouble. Not just a few souls have met the flogging whip for following Braham's teachings too closely. Daddy Roshka tells me Braham calls the worshipping of the three daughters of God a free man's religion. It's a pity. True, some land owners have motives in teaching their souls religion, but I taught Daddy Roshka the great book so that our souls could learn the teachings of the three daughters from one of their own people. I thought that through charity…"

Elizabeth clearly disapproved and interrupted.

"That is salvation not meant for them. They are enslaved for their sins by the three daughters of God and should be grateful their plight is not worse! Husband, this Braham is a heathen worse than the rest. If you want production to rise, you need to allow Ducayne to string that devil worshipping soul to a tree branch. It was his kind that started the wars of insurrection against the church and it was those horrible wars that stole years from our parent's existence due to constant threats and hardships. If the wars were still going would you think twice about having him burnt or hung? Your faith in the daughters is not wane, is it, my dearest husband?"

"My faith is stronger than ever, wife. But though Braham's words cause occasional animosity between some of our souls, he is one of my strongest workers. I can scarcely afford to lose a soul worth his financial value during these trying times any more than I can afford to lose one of my best horses. But I will deal with the boy soul, Elizabeth. I will make certain that the only souls up near the house are the domestics and the stable hands. Good enough?"

"Oh, pray do, husband. I fear them when they state at me with their animal eyes."

"Don't be ridiculous. You are safe, dearest."

It seemed to suddenly occur to Elizabeth that Templeton was not present.

"Where has your brother gone, William?"

"Ah, we had a break over a difference of opinion and he refused to stay on for dinner. I regret his absence and will sorely miss his support during the meal tonight with George Bullion and the other vultures."

"You will do fine, dear. They have no choice in honoring you because their grandparents honored ours. We will remind them of that fact to be sure. Right now I am going upstairs for a drink and a rest. I'll be refreshed and see you at dinner." Elizabeth declared. She drifted through the room, briefly touching William on his shoulder, and stopped on the upper portion of the staircase to remind William of an upcoming feast being celebrated by the town church. After that, William Capidolbred was once again left alone with his thoughts.

The sound of sporadic pattering and a sudden dimness in the room caused William to approach the open window. Peering out he could see the reason why his wife had some in from the verandah. The sky had become covered by thick streams of yellowish-black clouds and heaven was delivering a heavy summer rain with thunder and lightning. The long neglected dirt which surrounded the estate house was so dry and split that the heavy rain merely darkened the color. William couldn't believe it. How long had it been since it rained last? He smiled and gave thanks to the three daughters of God for the blessing of rain bestowed on his dying crops. He only hoped that the rain shower would be long and the first of many to come.

Through the window William watched Ducayne gallop from the fields to the front of the house where he handed the reigns of his horse to a battered stable soul as he dismounted. Ducayne also seemed in a lighter spirit due to the rain.

A sloppy and heavy knock sounded at the parlor door.

"Enter, Ducayne." Capidolbred called out with a serious demeanor.

The door opened. The overseer had already removed his shotgun from the holster across his back and he placed the weapon against the wall near the door as he entered. Closing the door behind him, Ducayne faced his employer and nodded clumsily. He looked more at the floor that he did at Capidolbred.

"Good rain, sur?" asked the overseer.

"A blessing to be sure, Ducayne, my good man. With any luck maybe this draught will begin to break."

Ducayne nodded stupidly and shuffled his boots nervously.

"Didn't look like it was gonna blow over, so we got da' souls at da' storage house weigh'n da' baskets."

"That's fine. But I want them back out directly after the lightning stops, so hold their bread until tonight."

"Yes, sur. Yes, sur."

"Would you like a drink, Ducayne?"

"Yes, sur. Thank you, sur."

William went to the chimney hearth and filled two glasses with brandy then handed one to Ducayne. Next he went to his desk and opened the top drawer where a wooden box was produced. William opened the box and offered Ducayne a gift in the form of a fine cigar.

"Bite off the end and spit it in the waste basket there. Good. Here, I will light it for you." instructed Capidolbred.

After getting Ducayne smoking, William lit a cigar for himself then returned the box to the desk.

"Ducayne, my friend. I need to have a talk with you and since it is raining, now seems as good as any. You know better than the other seers how bad things are around here."

Ducayne's blank facial expression showed the contrary, but William continued speaking without notice.

"All the boys under you are good seers and good men with families, and in considering that fact I've fought off laying anybody out of a job. But the draught has me in a pinch. I'm attempting to find a few employment positions on one on George Bullion's estates for the boys I'm going to have to lay off. And I regret having to do this, and hopefully it will only be temporary, but the rest of you who stay on as my seers are gonna have to take a reduction in wages. At least until we can get things back on track around here."

Ducayne had just tossed down the whole of his brandy, so it was possible that William mistook the watering eyes for that caused by the hard drink.

"Boss, like you said, we got families and dees' here times are…" Ducayne tried to plead.

"Ducayne, friend, I don't like having to do this. Not at all. You have been with me longer than any of the other seers and I need you to explain things to the other men. They respect you. Remember that this isn't permanent. This is for the estate."

"But, boss, sur…"

"It is final."

So Ducayne stood there with one gift smoking from his dry lips and the other burning inside his pug belly. And rage pumped into his cold heart and made it hot. But this sudden explosion of fresh hate wasn't directed at William Capidolbred. Not at all. It was aimed exclusively at the lazy 'one ear' dogs. In Ducayne's mind, the souls of the plantation were to blame for causing the loss of food for his family plate. And he silently vowed retribution.

"One more thing before you go, Ducayne. I need you to deal with a problem that my wife has brought to my attention."

--6--

The rain was heavy and the lightning and thunder fierce. The windmills moved at various speeds. A churning ocean of barely clothed souls, dirty and wet, were crowded together under the shelter area attached to the storage barn. Every basket of produce was either held by the soul who had labored to produce it or was kept within arms reach under strict observation. Many tired souls were still trickling in from the fields with their baskets. These arrivals were met by the sight of fellow souls dancing and singing, shouting and jesting. Indeed the unexpected rain had created an air of playful excitement among everyone. Even the overseers positioned at the huge sliding freight door seemed pleased by the rain and it showed by the indifferent way they grouped the souls while permitting them into the storage barn for crop weighing.

"And so dat' demon went up to da' castle staircase and into da' room where dat' second man was hide'n. When da' man saw da' demon's red eyes and da' spit on da' monster's fangs, he jus' cried out loud. Yes, he did. As da' demon spread his wings and claws, da' man begged and begged for his life just like da' first man did. He cried 'bout all da' things he never got to do and da' promises he ain't kept. He cried 'bout da' way he treated his family. Yes, sur, he sho' did. He did dat'. Dat' demon liked da' man's crying more than da' crying of da' first man, so he ripped da' man apart and ate his heart."

The story was being listened to by two boy souls around the age of nine who were waiting with one basket between them. The storyteller was an aged, but not elderly, soul named Zeke. Everyone in the village liked Zeke and his stories, though many of the younger souls enjoyed Zeke's funny facial expressions more than his actual story content. Zeke's voice was raspy and his teeth were crooked and missing in several places, some from the physical abuse of overseers. His large eyes, slightly crossed, were sunk deep in the sockets only to emerge like a turtle during phases of excitement. His body had once been strong, but now the gauze like grey skin hung loosely from his breast and stomach.

"So what happened, Uncle Zeke?" asked one of the boy souls.

"What happened, you ask'n? Well, dat' demon could smell da' third man and tracked da' room where he was hid'n. But dis' here man wuddn't scared like da' udders. Dis' man balled up his fists and looked dat' demon dead in da' eyes. Yes, sur, he did. Da' demon couldn't believe it. So da' demon asked da' man why he wudn't afraid like da' udder two men had been. And da' man said, God created me and to God I return after dis' here fist fight. And da' man punched dat' demon as hard as he could in da' face.

Yes, sur, he did!" concluded Zeke in a whisper.

"Did da' demon kill him, uncle Zeke?" asked the second boy.

"Don't matter." grinned Zeke as he moved his tongue between his missing teeth. "It don't matter. Ain't dat' right, Braham?"

"Da' part 'bout God was right. Couldn't tell it no better way, Zeke. But ain't no such things as demon monsters from da' spirit world. Free men want us souls to think dat' monsters can come up from damnation, or dat' we go to damnation where da' monsters eat, so we be some good souls. But there is only one God. I heard dat' old fool Daddy Roshka when he reads from da' free man's worship book with ol' tales 'bout demons wait'n in damnation for sinners, but I don't believe dat'. God is da' only judge. Da' creator gives favor or gives punishment and don't need no demons for dat'. But if dey' really was demons, ain't no way dey' have sharper claws than da' ones dat' whip us everyday."

A couple of older souls chuckled.

"Dat' sure is so!"

Braham, a good foot taller than the other males and among the strongest in physical build, spoke without anger in his deep voice. But he kept his volume low. His words were lost among the numerous other voices emanating from the crowd of waiting souls, but his passionate facial expressions had attracted the suspicious stare of an ugly overseer in the front. They always watched him.

The story being finished, Zeke's young audience attempted to push their way to the front of the mob and there began teasing another boy soul for being "Massa William's bastard". Little by little the crowd began to diminish as more and more souls were permitted into the storage barn with their baskets where the overseers would weigh them out.

The bread wouldn't be handed out until after dusk because the overseers thought that the rain storm would pass and work resumed. After having his two baskets weighed out, Braham took the path back to the village. The heavy downpour felt good on his neck and back. His limbs were heavy and his body ached. His bones always ached, never ceasing, only the pain now was much worse than it had been as a young man in prime condition. Those confused clutter of years, years consisting of heavy drinking mixed with the daily physical labor of bondage, had taken a great toll on him. When Braham thought back to those days of ignorant behavior, behavior which started with heavy drink and usually ended in fist fights against fellow souls, his emotions pained him more than his bones. Tataloni, the woman who had given him a son, was the sorest spot in his heart. The way he had treated Tataloni before and during the marriage, which like all soul unions was arranged by the plantation to increase souls, was wretched. Like so many other souls at the point of early manhood, Braham had been unable to suppress the wrath created by the humiliation of being owned and enslaved by another man who proclaimed himself a master. In too many cases, after being repeatedly broken by the overseer's flogging whip, men souls ended up prisoners to their own rage with no one to return the victimization to except other souls. Many times it was released on the women. Braham had been no different in his youth.
As if looking at a reflection of his own past, Braham caught sight of two souls heading for the weigh station. One was a female, barely a woman though her breasts had developed. Her cropped black hair was tangled and infested with straw. She wore no shirt or sandals, only oversized flax pants which were severed at the knee. A rope string kept the pants tight to her waist and she carried a crop basket atop her sweaty head. The soul walking behind her was a male on the brink of manhood, angry in facial features and dressed similar to the female. He had no basket, only fresh lash wounds across his back. Despite being repeatedly told to stop and pushed away with the girl's free arm, the male kept grabbing the girl's breasts in obscene ways. Braham did not know the young female, but he thought he knew the young male to be named Titan, a member of the younger generation of drinking brawlers among the village.

"Come here, boy! I said come here!" demanded Braham in his deep and booming voice.

Titan let loose of the girl and slowed his pace in order to stare defiantly at Braham. The girl said nothing and disappeared in the direction of the windmill. A heavy boom of thunder rocked the sky.

Braham walked through the downpour towards Titan and the two generations studied each other. Braham saw pain and fury mixed with confusion and fear in the young man's eyes. But it wasn't due to Braham. It was how a young soul felt in his heart at all times. Braham knew it because he had felt the exact same way at Titan's age, and still felt it. Only years of struggle and physical anguish had hardened Braham and being blessed with the realization that God was one had disciplined him to play his part within the collective.

"Boy, how would you like it if somebody did yo' sister like da' way you was doing dat' girl?" Braham asked Titan.

Titan scowled and positioned his face in front of Braham's.

"I know who you are and I ain't 'fraid of you. I'll fight you here in da' rain."

"I asked you a question, boy. How would you like it?"

"Never knew my moma. My sister got took long time ago. And day' say dat' da' seers had dey' way with her da' night fo' they took her away to da' auction." Titan snarled.

Braham could see through the anger to the pain and it was greater than any soul he had ever met.

"Boy, how you expect us ta' ever get outta dis sorry situation we in if we degrade our women? Our sisters, the mother of our sons? We need our women strong and honored, no man being able ta' disrespect 'em. If we don't protect 'em and treat 'em right, how can 'dey ever lead us and our sons out of 'dis sorrow? Our sons ain't never gonna respect 'dey sisters if we don't respect 'dey mothers."

Titan took a step back. Suddenly he wasn't sure Braham was sane.

"We ain't get'n out of 'dis. Dey cut our ears at birth! We 'dey property!" Titan whispered.

Another group of half naked female souls passed along the path with brimming baskets of picked crops. Braham continued talking to Titan. Despite the rain they talked for some time about many things. No matter what direction the conversation took, it always returned to God.

The clouds in the West were becoming light grey, only the rain still came in torrents which was now turning the wet dirt to mud.

"The liberty movement that you have been told about and you talk about, it will in time arrive here and make you free. But the owners of the land have motive." spoke the stranger. He was standing in the middle of the village, dripping wet from head to feet, addressing a small group of souls. Some souls were enduring the rain in order to hear the free man speak while others listened from the shelter of huts. There were men and women souls, but men were clearly the majority. Some souls pulled others away from the scene making no secret they feared an overseer's appearance. Others whispered among themselves that this was a free man stricken with the madness disease and dangerous to the village. Some souls laughed. Others jeered and threatened the stranger, seeing that he was not armed. But some did attempt to listen, so the stranger spoke on. He lifted his arm and pointed in the direction of one of the windmills.

"That is what the liberation movement is about! Think about how cruel your captivity is! Do you really believe that your master and the overseers will one day decide to be good people, righteous people, and set you free because they are sorry for the wrong they did?"

Many mumbled answers at once. As the various voices blended, a unified humming sound was created. The stranger continued on.

"No! Nor did the landowners in the East do it out of morality! When they started the liberty movement it was not to make right what was wrong in the land! They have developed machines in the East that can use the power of steam instead of the wind! This discovery has created a revolution of industry that our world has never known. The use of these new machines makes the work of one hundred men into the work of ten men! These machines are the true driving force behind the liberty movement!"

Returning to the village after conversing with Titan, Braham had come up on the scene and was surprised to hear how boldly the free man spoke. Several questions instantly formed in Braham's mind, for he had listened attentively to the speech. If liberty was really coming on the wings of these new machines, what would happen to his fellow souls when they were declared free men? Would they be allowed to stay on the plantation where many of them had been since birth? All the land was already owned by free men so where could souls go to live and how would they be able to produce their own food? Braham tried to think of a future that freedom would produce. It pleased him to meditate over every soul, young and old, finally being declared free. He was already familiar with the way free men who owned no land were hired for money, which they used to buy food and shelter, in exchange for their labor. But the stranger had spoken of new machines which 'made the work of one hundred men into the work of ten men'. If souls were given liberty and pushed from the plantations at the same time that this new machinery arrived, what would happen to the massive number of souls flooding the system of the free man's hired work system?

"Seer in the field!" a voice cried out. This warning succeeded in dispersing the listeners from the stranger. Braham was tired and wanted no trouble, so he trudged on through the mud toward his hut. A hand grasped his shoulder. Braham turned to see the stranger.

"You are Braham?" asked the stranger.

"How… do you know me, free man?"

"Your fellow souls have spoken of you and mentioned your name as you approached. But I learned your name from a mutual friend whom you once taught to pray. I have risked danger to myself in bringing you a message, Braham. I am originally from the East. My family was a family of free workers who never owned land or wealth in their blood. But work has long dried up in the East since the wars of insurrection against the church, for the steam engines followed. There is only massive poverty and prisons now. And the aristocracy is ruthless in their tactics of oppression. So I came West hoping to secure work, a new trade if need be, before the revolution swept across the entire territory. For a time I found work on one of George Bullion's estates, a large one on the other side of the salt hills. It was on that plantation that I learned much more than a new trade. There I became acquainted with a man whose soul name was Gregory. Gregory had once toiled here on this plantation. As a young man, it was here on this plantation which we stand, that he learned to pray to the one God, creator of all life. You were his teacher, Braham. While working the Bullion estate, Gregory and I had long conversations about God. And at times, I must admit, I became very disturbed. See, I had been born to a family loyal to the church and fervent to the three daughters. It could have been no other way, for should the accusation of heretic be aimed at a family without land during the wars of insurrection against the church it meant certain death. And if a heretic family held land, it was confiscated and redistributed. So my family, once indoctrinated themselves, had me indoctrinated to worship the three daughters as God, never knowing to think of God in any other form. The more Gregory spoke to me about God being one, the more I would think about my prayer offerings. At that point I began to re-read the great book of the church, attempting to compare the wars of insurrection as I had experienced them with the ancient wars which the great book described. In both the poor were trampled for the sake of kingdoms and trade agreements. From that point I began life anew. I only serve God, the creator of all life, and will never again pray to other objects or other God made people. Every man is my brother under God for the creator made all and is all. Only division springs from worshipping idols, people and saints for one can always claim one to be better in order to lure money and power. But a nation can emerge, a nation without territory lines, under the one and only God. For God alone created all."

Braham grinned wide and beamed with joy. His bones no longer hurt.

But… you are a free man. A free man dat' worships da' one God!" Braham blurted out.

"There are no free men, Braham, if there are oppressed men. But my time here is short and I must tell you the reason I have come.

I bring word from your wife, Tataloni."

Braham was dumbstruck.

"Praise God. She is alive." uttered Braham and he began to tremble. "Alive."

Tears clouded Braham's eyes and he dropped to his knees where he pressed his forehead to the wet soil and praised God.
The stranger stepped back a few steps. When Braham finished his prayer and climbed back to his feet, the stranger approached again.

"Yes, Braham, your wife is alive and working the estate where I told you I met Gregory. It was Gregory who introduced Tataloni to me with the request that at the end of my employment when I headed further West that I might find you. I, at once, considered the request an honor for you are the teacher of my teacher. The plantation your wife works is very far from here, past the salt hills. So I can not return any message, but she wishes you to know that she is alive and healthy. The plantation she was sold to married her to one of their own souls, a simple man named Ralph. Though the man is a worshipper of the three daughters and keeps to the church teachings, he is a humble man and good at heart. He understands the love that Tataloni will always have for you and the son shared between you. Be assured that the man respects her in all matters. She has mothered two daughters with this man for that plantation and their support for each other is enough to keep them going. Tataloni wishes you to know that her love for you is, and always will be, strong though she knows that it is improbable that you two will meet again in this life. She, and occasionally her husband, have listened to Gregory teach about the one and only God of all life which you had taught him while he was here on this estate. Tataloni is happy above all else that you have found peace in God for she never stopped praying for you. Her love and hope is to be given to the son shared between you, Braham. It pains the woman that her son will grow up never knowing her. She asks above all that you share with the boy every memory your mind holds of his mother. She is firm in the belief that you will raise your son up to be strong and part of a much stronger generation."

--7--

Braham returned to his hut after hearing the stranger's message. His heart beamed with joy over the knowledge that Tataloni was still living and healthy, yet his most vital muscle was encircled and occasionally bitten by the grief that his love had been given to another. He knew the sorrow to be petty, especially under the light of a world which caused so many more devastating tragedies. On the other hand, he was only a man. Despite what any free man thought, he was a man and could not subdue his God given emotions.

Atam sat cross legged on the ground just inside the hut gazing thoughtfully out at the last drops of rain. The sun was beginning to break through the charcoal clouds and several bridges of light connected the fields to the heavens.

Braham stopped just outside the hut and admired his son.

"This rain saved yo' skin, boy. I know you waddn't in da' field." he said firmly.

"Yes, sur." replied Atam. The child eyed the dry dirt floor of the inner hut.

"Did you find da' two boys you was sharing a basket wit' before weighing?" Braham asked.

"Yes, sur."

"Was it a light load?"

"Yes, sur."

Braham ducked his head as he entered the hut then helped Atam up from the dry soil.

"See what ya' did, boy? By running off and not doin' yo' part of da' work, yo' not only brought da' attention of da' seers on you, yo' brought it down on two udder boys."

"You gonna whip me?"

"Boy, have I beat you since your moma been gone?"

"No, sur."

"No, I ain't gonna beat ya'. Dem' overseers might if dey' catch you!"

And Braham wrapped his thick arm around his son's skinny neck and squeezed softly. Atam looked up at his father in surprise, instantly feeling that something good had happened.

"Son, der' are many things dat' I want to tell you 'bout today. Things I should'a shared wit' you a long time ago. But first, I want you ta' pray wit' yo' old man. Alongside yo' old man."

"Pray? I do feel like I wanna pray. Da' seers beat Eva's moma fo' giv'n me bread today. I never should'a went up near da' house to see Eva. I wanna pray dat' Eva's moma ain't hurt bad."

Braham slowly dropped to his knees and raised his arms toward the ceiling. Atam watched his father and mimicked. Then Braham put his forehead to the dry dirt and prayed to God. And Atam mimicked. The father had many more scars on his back from the flogging whip than the son.

"You no good one ear vermin! You pray'n to da' rain? I should'a known dat' you lazy dogs pray to da' rain ta' get outta work!"

The hoarse voice was that of Ducayne, standing in the doorway of the hut drinking from a metal flask. The golem was visibly intoxicated with spit hanging from his lips and deep rooted hate in his bloodshot eyes. Braham heard the overseer, but didn't so much as stir from his position before God. Atam, in his fear, lifted himself slightly to eye Ducayne.
Ducayne finished off his flask, wiped his mouth and flung the empty container out of the hut.

"Git up, I say!" Ducayne hollered. And he snatched Atam up by the neck and flung him into a corner. Braham raised himself, but remained kneeling. His eyes met Ducayne's, the former showing no fear while the latter escalated with fury.

"Pray only to God. All praise is due to God!" Braham prayed aloud. His voice was strong and determined.

Ducayne grinned in drunken amusement. His mouth was a horrible sight as it opened and displayed a set of long neglected teeth. But it was the malicious way that the golem smirked that made such a frightful impression on Atam.

"You ain't got no God, soul! Now git up! I know you been send'n yo' boy up to da' estate house to steal food!" roared Ducayne.
But Braham didn't rise from his knees, nor did he break the stare with Ducayne.

"God created all men. There is no God but God!" Braham cried out.

Ducayne pulled the flogging whip from his belt. As he hurried to uncoil it, the multiple lashes capped with sharp metal tips, danced and clanked together like a wind chime. The force of the first blow reopened old wounds across Braham's back. The second was brutal and caused carnage to the flesh. But Braham refused to budge and through clinched teeth and excruciating pain continued to praise God aloud. The more force Ducayne put behind the blows, the louder Braham called up to God. Blood increased with every lash that struck skin, sending the substance of life trickling down Braham's back until it came to drip from his ribs to the dirt soil. The violence went on for some time. Though no flesh remained on Braham's back, he never broke. Half delirious and half choking on spit and blood, Braham was still praying loudly when the beating stopped.
Ducayne, on the other hand, was hunched over and gasping for air. He had exhausted himself and was forced by a violent fit of coughing to halt the beating. In a sudden flash of embarrassment and fury, the seer snatched his shotgun from the holster across his back and cocked it with one arm. BOOM!

Braham's lifeless carcass collapsed prostrate to the ground. Ducayne stumbled to the entrance of the hut and threw up the alcohol he had been drinking before exerting so much energy. Wiping vomit from his chin and slightly unbalanced, he grunted without looking back at the boy soul he had thrown.

"No one ears up by the estate house!"

As the overseer went out, he could hear the boy crying. Shivering and whimpering, it was some time before Atam was able to uncurl himself from the spot near the hut wall where he had been hurled. When the shock finally subsided and he could once again move his limbs, all he knew to do was crawl to his father's mangled body and weep over it. The ringing in the child's ears was disorientating and tears made him nearly blind. The blood of his father accumulated on the boy's face and fingers, but Atam cared nothing except to hold his father. Outside, the plantation bell instructing souls back to the fields was sounding and from time to time Atam could discern groups of souls passing outside the hut on their way back to work, occasionally peering inside to confirm the rumor that a killing had taken place. Atam was oblivious to everything except the body of his father. He studied the face of his father and the deep life lines etched in the skin. And he stared long and hard at his father's mutilated ear which the free men had cut off as a mark of property.

Suddenly, a booming voice went off inside Atam's cluttered head and heavy heart. It told him to get up. And Atam did so. He walked out of the hut and towards the fields. The clouds were gone and the sun was beaming brightly as it had before the rain, only now the hot air was stuffy and very humid. Everywhere on the plantation groups of souls were trudging back to the fields. It didn't take Atam long to reach the field where he had watched his father toil earlier in the afternoon. A good number of souls already had their baskets and were picking crops. Right away Atam saw the overseer who had taken his father's life. Ducayne was on his horse near two other overseers on horseback. Each had a shotgun secured in a holster across their back and each held a flogging whip in their hand. They were conversing about the incident of Braham's murder, and while they showed no remorse other than an occasional grin, the three overseers seemed to be discussing the possibility of unruliness due to the popularity of the slain. Atam marched directly in front of Ducayne's horse and stopped. Seeing the boy, face and hands covered with the blood of his father, startled the overseers. They quickly spread their horses out a bit and began to survey the other souls telling them to get back to work.

"Well? Where's your bushel, boy?" demanded Ducayne.

Not a soul in the field moved, but all watched with dreadful expectation that the boy would soon meet a fate similar to his father. Whispers began to spread through the field.

"Da' poor boy. Dey' killed his papa."

"Dey' gonna kill da' boy, too."

Atam pointed a bloody finger at Ducayne and shouted at the top of his lungs.

"God created us, too! Give us da' liberty!"

A few souls instinctively repeated the words. Then a woman soul threw her basket and frantically shouted the saying. Ducayne's flogging whip was already in the air and swinging forcefully at Atam's face when a rock from the soil beamed him in the face, leaving a huge red whelp. The thrower was none other than Titan. Other souls followed with more rocks. One of the seers, in a panic, fired off a warning shot into the air. But just as the shot rang out, a rock struck his horse in the eye and the animal went up on hind legs snorting wildly. The seer managed to grab hold of the reigns but his shotgun dropped to the ground. Several male souls scrambled madly for the weapon. Ducayne saw the threat and fired his own shotgun, instantly killing one soul. But two more souls were already scrambling on all fours to get the weapon. More rocks. Another gunshot. And the roar for liberty.

--8--

William Capidolbred reclined on the porch of the estate house taking in the beauty of the land he loved so much. His souls were returning to the fields after an afternoon rest which the rain had provided. The plots of agriculture, some brown while others were green, were appeasing to the eye. It was the true essence of nature. Sipping his sweet lemonade, William looked out in the direction of the storage barn and the slow moving windmills. And he thought about what George Bullion had told him about machines with the power to utilize steam.

A man William had never seen before walked up to the porch and when the stranger was close enough to greet, it became obvious to William that the man was a free man. The man had appeared from the direction of the soul village, but William thought it far fetched that any free man would go unsupervised and unarmed among souls and figured that the man had come from the main road.

"Greetings, sir." said the stranger. "I spoke with one of your free workers earlier this morning, perhaps he mentioned my presence to you. I am seeking work and am curious to know if you might have any to offer."

"Yes, Ducayne did mention about you. Sorry, friend. These are tough times all around. What parts are you from, stranger?"

"The East. Things are very bad there."

"I wish I could help you, but my hands are tied. Good luck in your search. You might try George Bullion. He owns quite a bit of land around the salt hills." William suggested.

The stranger nodded, then turned and walked the road leading off the plantation. William watched the man until he was out of sight. Finishing his lemonade, his thoughts of George Bullion's arrival were disrupted by sounds of gunshot blasts and screams.

Only William Capidolbred could not distinguish the screams of his souls from the screams of his overseers.

END