SUMMARY: THE STORY SO FAR…
Josiah, a young slave 12 years of age, lives in a cabin in the slave quarters of a Virginia tobacco plantation with 8 other slaves, including Auntie Bee, Mose, the plantation handyman, two young children, Randall and Emily. He keeps noticing that Mose leaves the cabin in the middle of the night. One night he follows Mose to his secret workshop in the woods and discovers that he is building some sort of strange contraption. He is shocked when Mose tells him he is making a machine to fly to his freedom. Now that he knows Mose’s secret, he stays on to help build the flier. After mishaps, false starts and setbacks —the flier tumbles down the mountain and is seriously damaged—they are attacked by snakes—mountain lions lurk all around them—they realize someone has been spying on them and they think their escape plan has been discovered. Finally, their time has come. They are in the air, riding on the wings of the wind.
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Suddenly they came crashing down on us. Long-necked geese were everywhere, their powerful wings snapping at our heads, their thick hairless bodies battering us as they passed over in an endless stream of fierce honking.
Turbulent wind from thunderous beating wings whipped and tossed us uncontrollably. The clamor of their barking was so raucous and loud we couldn’t hear ourselves screaming.
Then, as quick as they came, they were gone. The wind died down. The sounds petered out. The flock moved on. A few straggling geese flew overhead, honking at the dark formation ahead, now rapidly speeding away from us. The geese were following the mountains like we were—only they were heading south toward where we came from. We were following the mountains north.
I never realized how busy it was up there. Since we were flying with the birds, it shouldn’t have surprised me that birds were everywhere. I never imagined there were so many different kinds of birds.
The sky was filled with birds of every possible variety and color, birds in all shapes and sizes. I recognized some birds like robins, crows and hawks. Most were birds I had never seen before, tiny red birds, big blue birds, yellow and gray birds, birds with spots and birds with stripes. They flew in flocks and in pairs and some flew alone. Birds soared above us and below us, zipping all around us, on every side. There were birds darting every which way, passing and crossing in a crazy dizzying dance. We were in bird country for sure.
It was fascinating to watch them fly and hear their chirping chittering chorus that was amazingly loud for such small fragile creatures.
Some birds flew alongside us. We could watch them up close, their wings hardly moving as they soared easily in the air. They looked like they were just resting in the wind.
It seemed like they were doing nothing—yet they could fly great distances that way. Once in a while, when they needed a burst of speed, they would wave their wings, snapping the air with a sharp report like a gunshot.
I had never seen birds in flight from this close. On the ground, no bird would ever let you come near. If you tried they would fly away. Here, birds don’t know any fear. They own the sky.
Soon we had a visitor. A shiny silk-white bird slowly lowered himself until he was sitting on the edge of the flier. He remained there, his head bobbing, eyes peeking in every direction as if he was interested in what he was seeing. He certainly wasn’t scared of us. Why should he be? We would never harm him. If he felt the slightest bit threatened he could just fly away.
Randall studied the bird seriously and crawled toward him. When he got close he started talking to the bird. I swear, it looked for all the world like the two of them were having a civilized conversation.
Randall asked the bird if he was tired. “If I was you I’d be worn out from all that flying,” he said. “Well, you can just set right there. We won’t do nothin. I promise.”
“He don’t understand you,” I told him. “Birds can’t talk.”
Randall was offended by my statement of fact.
“We making friends,” he explained. “See? He likes us.”
The bird was sitting comfortably on the wood frame, his head jerking this way and that like he was sizing up the situation, taking it all in. But he made no move to leave.
Emily was sitting perfectly still, just watching. Her big eyes followed her brother and the bird, her face beaming with delight.
“You hungry?” Randall asked the bird. “I bet you ain’t had nothing to eat for a good long while.” He reached into his pocket and pulled something out. Whatever it was he was holding, he kept it protected in a closed fist. Then he offered it to the bird.
When he opened his hand, a frog popped out. Immediately, the adventurous frog took several quick hops across the flier.
“Hey!” I jumped back, startled. I think I went about a foot in the air. Luckily, I managed to keep my balance.
The surprise appearance of the little frog was too much for Emily. She began squealing and laughing, expressing her feeling of pure joy.
“What are you crazy?” I hollered at the boy.
“The bird hungry,” Randall said.
“Birds don’t eat frogs,” I told him.
I guess the frog wasn’t taking any chances on that point. He tried to escape, making desperate hops across the bed of the flier. With one last mighty leap he went flying over the edge. We watched him fall, following his long downward journey until he disappeared into the wild brush below. We never saw him hit the ground.
Posted By: Richard Kigel
Wednesday, June 2nd 2010 at 8:00AM
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