Timothy of the Cay by Theodore Taylor Page B

den planted cane cuttins..."
    "Yuh do dat ebry day?"
    "Only at plantin' time. Res' o' de time de chillun weeded till de cane was cut. Den de fires begun in de boilin' house, to make molasses..."
    "Yuh warked all de time?" Timothy asked.
    "Sunup to sundown 'cept on Sunday. In boilin' time, de mahn warked ebry day."
    Wobert talked about how it was to be a slave almost until noon, when they sailed back toward shore. The last thing he said about it was, "Yuh lucky, bein' born after Freedom Day."
    That was true, Timothy realized.
    Wobert added, "One ting I larned when I was a chicken boy—black hens lay white eggs," then he cackled and cackled, slapping his useless leg. "Riddle me dat."
    Timothy wasn't sure what he meant. He'd ask Tante Hannah later.
    He trudged to Back o' All with two fat groupers. One to give away, one to cook.
    ***
    A layer of floating whitish wood smoke made a roof over Back o' All just before sunset and trapped the rich food smells that came from the open fires outside the huts.
    Tante Hannah was almost ready to take the boiling
maufé
sauce—diced pork, tomatoes, and onions, and cooked flaked grouper—from the embers and pour it over
fungi,
cornmeal shaped into balls. She stirred in some of her own handpicked bay leaves and ginger, then took a sniff. Nodding, she went back into the hut and brought out two plates.
    The fair dawn weather had continued into the twilight, the trade wind picking up a cool edge in late afternoon. The heat of the charcoal would feel good once they sat down to eat.
    Soon, Tante Hannah served the simple meal, saying a blessing over it before they took their first bites.
    While they were eating, Mama Geeches came over uninvited and sat down by Tante Hannah. The birdlike, tiny woman, always dressed in lavender and wearing silver rings on her baby-sized fingers, was paid to chase
jumbis.
She was also paid to bring good luck.
    It was said that Loupgarau, the man-spirit who took off his clothes and flew by night in a ball of fire, sucking blood from his victims, played with Mama Geeches just after she was born. He introduced her to the world of spirits, including Soucayant, the female Loupgarau.
    Mama Geeches lived two huts down. She stared moodily into the fire. She shook her head when Tante Hannah offered her some
maufé
and
fungi.
    Timothy had always been afraid of her, tiny though she was. He was afraid of her old-country spells and magic. There were many stories about Mama Geeches. She was neither young nor old, neither living nor dead. Even
bukras
came down from their mansions in the hills to visit Mama Geeches for one reason or another.
    Finally, looking over at Timothy with sleepy dark eyes that were barely visible in the crimson glow, she said, "Pay me two
kroner
an' Ah'll sink de
Amager.
" Her voice was that of a little girl.
    Was there anyone on the whole island who didn't know he'd been left behind? Mama Geeches seemed to hear everything that went on. The
Amager
was likely two hundred miles along her northerly course to New York.
Sink her?
    Tante Hannah bristled at the thought. "We'll do no such ting."
    Mama Geeches, still looking intently at Timothy, said, "Pay me two
kroner
an' Ah'll git yuh a good ship."
    Frowning, Tante Hannah said, carefully and uneasily, "'E'll git 'is own ship when 'tis time."
    Mama Geeches slowly rotated her head toward Tante Hannah to threaten, "An' it'll be a goat-mout' ship." A bad-luck ship.
    Retreating, Tante Hannah said she couldn't afford two
kroner
, having just spent her savings on shoes and pants.
    Mama Geeches rose and moved off into the shadows, soundless as a mongoose, for which Timothy was grateful. He let out a long
whew,
relieved.
    Another such breath came from Tante Hannah.
    As Mama Geeches moved beyond what they thought was hearing range, Tante Hannah said, bravely, "Don' fret, yuh know she just a silly obeah womahn." But the tense look on her face said something else. It said that she was as afraid of the