Finally, when the baby slip out, Calla quick smart cut the cord. Wipe him all over with water boiled up with herbs. Wrap him up in Massa old raggedy shirt, give him to Stella so she can hold him. Tell me to come in to have a good look at me baby brother, a mash-up looking thing. And when everything get clean up, we sit outside so Calla can have a quiet smoke.

‘Why we just sitting here,’ I ask, yawning.

‘Waiting for “the little grandmother” to come out.’

‘What you mean?’ Shaking me head. Sometimes Calla teachings too hard to understand.

‘Is how to keep the baby safe. Must bury the little grandmother. Bury it deep, pour libations. Is how me help make the baby grow plenty big, plenty strong.’

‘Oh,’ I say, too tired, hoping I don’t have to go out digging with Calla.

‘Nobody must see where “the little grandmother” get buried. Only me know. Find it by the fruit-bearing tree me plant on top.’

A few days later, Massa show up and this time, him don’t ask Stella, him just name the baby Sammy. Make him plenty happy when Stella say him the father.

Now is Sammy she take with her on her early morning walk. Carry him in a sling cross her back like she used to carry me. Take him with her into the Great House. And I feel a great sadness well up when she shout at me ‘do as you told’, and shoo me out the door. Send me off to stay with Calla, in her hut, the one that sit at the top of the hill, far away from the crowded slave village. When you look down, you can see how the village huts all clumped together and the people them look small. See the Great House, the grassy lawn, the fruit trees in the kitchen garden at the back. Even see the canefield them, if you look far enough off.

At first, it take me a long time to walk up that hill, dragging me feet along. It seem like I never going get to the top. Feeling with every step is love I leaving far behind. Somehow, I get used to it. Turn not so gloomy. Start to feel better as I pass the little bubbling stream, the one that run close to Calla hut, lime green ferns clinging to the side. Tiny leaves like lace, a fluttering in the sunlight.

Is not I alone must walk up that stony grass path to stay with Calla. She already have a few of us pickney under her wing. Is up to her to keep us busy as soon as we steady on our feet, able to do some basic learning. Teach us bout the life we born into. A life without freedom. The life we going be made to live.