NOT ONE OF US

When we reached Kingston, I saw something strange hanging from a gallows. As we drew level, I gasped, so horrified that I grabbed Reuben’s arm. A black carcass was swaying in the chains that held it. At first, I thought it moved because it was half alive, but then I saw the vulture perched on its shoulder tearing strips of flesh from the neck. The body was tilted, the head hanging sideways, suspended by a hook through the ribs. I turned away and buried my head in Reuben’s shirt, trying to shut out the hideous image. Once I knew that we were well past the scene, I looked up and fixed my eyes on the street ahead. I was about to ask Reuben about the body when he placed a crooked finger on my lips. ‘Shush. Ask yer Mama. She say.’ I had lost all interest in the fine houses, the crowds in the street, the colours, the smell of the sea. Soldiers in scarlet uniforms with muskets, negro women on the wharves bent under sacks of coal, bakra ladies like flowers in bright dresses and wide hats, bold mulatto girls with shining bracelets on their ankles and wrists, bare footed seamen in the rigging of ships taller than trees, the squeal of ropes in pulleys, the rattle of fine carriages, the braying of donkeys, the chorus of sailors at a winch. I paid attention to neither sight nor sound, everything for which I had risked a scolding. Reuben drove down the wharf to a warehouse that stank of fish and halted the wagon. ‘Wait here, missee.’ I wanted to go home but had to wait. He slid down off the wagon and fitted a nosebag of corn on the horse. I watched as a sturdy negro rolled barrels of salt herring up a plank into the cart. He was well fed, his muscles writhing like black snakes on his arms. Not like the men in our yard, who were lean and lifeless. I wondered how strong men like that could end up in chains. I couldn’t get that fearful image of the gallows out of my mind. When the wagon was loaded, we turned back to another warehouse for rice and other supplies. In that street we passed several negro heads on stakes, the flesh still clinging to the skulls, attracting clouds of flies. I covered my eyes each time I saw one of these and swore that I would never come to Kingston again, an evil place, haunted by bad spirits.