Maybe only Three

Free at Last

The sun finally disappeared behind the distant trees. Long, black
shadows stretched across the field and eventually covered him. He was
invisible when the sun went down. His skin was dark as the night
itself.

"Twenty-four hours," he thought. "Twenty-four hours. I'll be free at
last?free at last?" Even as he thought this he could not help feeling a
hint of pride that he could count the hours in a day. "Twenty and
four," he whispered to himself in a barely audibly voice.

He was a slave. Other slaves called him Jake. The white men called him
whatever came into their heads at the time. He had no real name, at
least none that he knew of. Jake was as good a name as any. Jake was a
man of average build but above average strength. His body was well
conditioned to the rigors of slavery. He grew physically strong
naturally, but his mind took work and effort. It's hard for a slave to
think. What slave has time to think? Jake had always tried to make
time. He listened intently to any and all conversations that took place
around him. He memorized with a passion. Anything he heard he committed
to memory. While he worked in the fields, he recited. Other slaves
would hear him repeating over and over again a conversation between two
ladies about the length of the sleeves on a dress, or something about
raising horses that the breeders said. Anything and everything Jake
committed to memory. Sure, he didn't remember it all forever, but
anything useful stayed. After a while the details of the conversations
would slip out of his mind, but any fact, any piece of hard truth,
became a permanent part of Jake's knowledge. Jake memorized the Bible
more than anything. He couldn't read, but he went to the Sunday
services for the slaves. He heard the black minister read, and
memorized by ear ever Sunday morning. He'd be repeating the morning's
Bible passage all week. "It is for freedom that Christ has set you
free. Stand firm, then, and do not let yourselves be burdened again by
a yoke of slavery." That was his favorite verse. He even knew the
reference: Galatians, chapter 5 verse 1. Oh yes, he'd be free.
Twenty-four hours, he'd be free at last?free at last. Jake didn't
memorize for nothing. He had a purpose.

"Knowledge is power," he had once heard. He had long since forgotten
who had said it, but a long time ago he had heard it. He remembered
standing in the fields with his back bent to the burning sun. The words
came drifting through the air, casually, like words always do when they
come from the mouths of free men, "Knowledge is power." Jake never
needed to repeat those three words. They became the purpose of his
life. One sentence of an overheard conversation between two white men
changed him forever. He needed power, but he had none. He had nothing.
Knowledge was the only way for him to have power. Jake looked for
knowledge everywhere, and he found it. In bits and pieces he found
knowledge all around him. He was accumulating power. That power would
set him free.

"Twenty-four hours," he said to himself again. "Maybe only
twenty-three." He could feel sleep coming. It came quickly to his body.
It's easy for the body of a slave to sleep. His mind was reluctant to
follow. A man's mind never really rests till he's free. "Twenty-three
hours?twenty-three hours?twenty-three?" Finally, he drifted off to
sleep.

Jake awoke with the sun on his face. It had just peeked over the great
plantation mansion where his master lived. He rose immediately and
moved off to the fields. As he walked he looked at the sun. "Fourteen
hours," he thought to himself. "Maybe only thirteen." Days were long in
the summer.

Ten hours later the slaves were off work. Jake was sitting in the
fields near the house with the rest of slaves. They were drunk, all of
them. One white man walked among them, laughing and talking and giving
out bottles of whiskey. The master always sent them whiskey when he had
to entertain guests late at night. "Easier than having to watch them,"
Jake had heard him say. Jake used to drink at times like this, at least
as much as everyone else, but he didn't drink anymore. He had heard the
white men talking about their drinking once. Even in his drunken state
Jake memorized what they said: "You know, they could never be free
anyway. A free man can't afford to drink like that. They'd drink up all
their money the day they earned it." Then the other one answered, "They
don't need to be free. We keep them drunk. We keep them happy. Who
needs to be free if they're happy?" Jake never forgot those words, and
he never drank again. He didn't want to be happy; he wanted to be free.
The white man walked near him. Jake held up a full bottle of whiskey.
"Sure is good," he slurred at the white man. "This is my fifth one." He
held up four fingers on his free hand as the white man passed by. The
man only glanced at him then walked away. Jake put the bottle down and
waited. He looked at the sinking sun.

"Four more hours," he thought. "Maybe only three."

A few hours later, Jake was in the same place. He was lying down with
the rest of the slaves. They were all fast asleep, in the sleep that
only whiskey can bring. Only Jake was awake. He looked up at the sky
and watched the sun disappear behind the trees. He turned around and
watched the lights in the mansion windows. "Four, three, two, one," he
counted both in a whisper and on his fingers. Jake stood up and began
to walk. He was careful to keep the sunset to his left. He knew which
direction was north. He had timed it perfectly. There wasn't a sound on
the fields as Jake left them and walked into the surrounding woods. He
was headed for the free North. "Four days walk," Jake said to himself.
"Maybe only three."

A few years later, Jake was under the same hot sun, still using his
good strong back. He was a brick-layer now. When he came to the North,
a white man found him and gave him a job. Jake caught on quick. He
memorized everything he was supposed to do. "This is how you mix the
mortar?" he memorized it. "Take this much on the spade and lay it on
like this?" he memorized it. "This is how you do a corner?" he
memorized it. Now he was bent over the brick wall he was making. He
worked like a machine. One hand scooped and flattened the mortar; the
other put each brick firmly in place. He still worked dawn to dusk, and
he didn't earn money. Instead, his boss gave him a place to live, food
to eat, and all the other bare necessities of life. It was a hard life,
but he was free at last. Sure, he had to work, but even a free man has
to work. Even a free man has to eat, and food doesn't come free, not
even for a free man. Jake looked up at the sun. It was halfway between
noon and dusk. "Four more hours," he thought to himself. "Maybe only
three."

A good many years later, Jake finally found the time to sit down. He
was an old man now, and there wasn't much else he could do. A white
family had taken him in. They called him a servant, but they were just
being kind. The family didn't let him out much. "It's bad for your
heart," they told him, but they were good Christians that family,
showed him kindness and taught him the Bible. "You have been set free
from sin and have become slaves to righteousness," they said, and he
memorized it. "Just as you used to offer the parts of your body in
slaver to impurity and to ever-increasing wickedness, so now offer them
in slavery to righteousness?" He memorized that, too. Jake was a
righteous man in his old age, and wise. He didn't ask for anything from
life; he only gave what he could. The white family came to consider him
a blessing. Jake looked out the window as he sat. For the last time he
saw the sun setting behind the trees. Slowly he raised a bony hand to
his thin chest. Jake could feel his weak heart beating slowly,
irregularly.

"Four more hours," he said quietly to himself. "Maybe only three?I'll
be free at last?free at last?"