Gullah Joe bent over him. “How you feel?”

“Fine,” Denmark whispered. “’Cept I ain’t dead yet.”

“Oh, I don’t want you dead. I make up my mind. You be fine. Drink this.”

Gullah Joe handed him a small bottle. It smelled awful, but there was alcohol in it and that was persuasive enough. Denmark drank the whole bottle, or at least he would have, if Joe hadn’t snatched it out of his hands. “You want to live forever?” Gullah Joe demanded. “You use up all my saving stuff?”

Whatever it was, it worked great. Denmark bounded to his feet. “I want more of that!” he said.

“You never get this again,” said Gullah Joe. “You like it too good.”

“Give it to my woman!” cried Denmark. “Make her well again!”

“She sick in the brain,” said Gullah Joe. “This don’t do no good for brain.”

“Well then you go on and kill me again, you cheating bastard! I’m sick of living like this, everybody hate me, I hate myself!”

“I don’t hate you,” said Gullah Joe. “I got a use for you.”

And ever since then, Denmark had been with Gullah Joe. Denmark’s money had gone to supporting both him and Gullah Joe, and to accomplish whatever Joe wanted done. Half Denmark’s day was spent taking care of new-arrived slaves, gathering their names and bringing them home to Joe.

The whole idea of taking names came from Denmark’s woman. Not that she thought of it. But when Denmark rented the warehouse and brought Gullah Joe and the woman both to live there, Gullah Joe asked her what her name was. She just looked at him and said, “I don’ know, master.” It was a far cry from what she used to say to Denmark, back before he made her stupid. In those days she’d say, “Master never know my name. You call me what you want, but I never tell my name.”

Well, when Gullah Joe asked Denmark what the woman’s name was, and Denmark didn’t know, why, you might have thought Joe had eaten a pepper, the way he started jumping around and howling and yipping. “She never told her name!” he cried. “She kept her soul!”

“She kept her hate,” said Denmark. “I tried to love her and I don’t even know what to call her except Woman.”

But Gullah didn’t care about Denmark’s sad story. He got to work with his witchery. He made Denmark catch him a seagull—not an easy thing to do, but with Joe’s Catching Stick it went well enough. Soon the seagull’s body parts were baked, boiled, mixed, glued, woven, or knotted into a feathered cape that Gullah Joe would throw over his head to turn himself into a seagull. “Not really,” he explained to Denmark. “I still a man, but I fly and White sailor, he see gulls.” Joe would fly out to slaveships coming in to port in Camelot. He’d go down into the hold and tell the people they needed to get their name-string made before they landed, and give it to the half-Black man who gave them water.