When Calla find out, she hobble over to the hut. Shoo away the little crowd standing round, looking pon old cripple Jonnie like them never see him before. Then she get me to help lay out Jonnie body on the bed, cover him over with a cloth she keep back special. Lock up the hut, while we make ready for all the funeral preparations.

Is a powerful thing this funeral rite business, when a slave crossing over from the world of the living to the world of the dead. Calla bring the knowledge with her from Africa. Tell me she was chosen by the Ancestor spirit them, from when she was a pickney.

Before we start, Calla send me to the river to wash all over. Make me bow down before her. Pour libations over me head. Pray for guidance and protection. Cut the tip of her finger, drip the blood in a circle round me.

‘You have no power of you own, Willy. Twelve still too young,’ she explain. ‘Have to use the power of me blood to protect you.’

‘Protect me from what, Calla?’

‘Spirits, waiting, watching, hoping to catch a ride.’

‘Catch a ride?’

‘Enter the body, hook into the soul. Live again on this earthly plane.’

I draw closer to Calla.

‘Any spirits close by?’ I ask, looking round.

‘Don’t you worry bout that, Willy,’ Calla say with a chuckle. ‘Time to get to work.’

And with that, we open up the hut and go in.

Not much in old cripple Jonnie hut. A broken-down box him use as a table. Two stools him must be make for himself. Him best shirt, him pants. Not much for a man that live as long as him did. Calla notice me just looking round and tell me to ‘mek haste!’ Soon every corner get dusted, get washed. But the floor need a good deal of sweeping before Calla happy with it.

While she waiting for me to finish cleaning, she sit outside, have a nice little smoke from her pipe. Gather up the things she going need to prepare Jonnie for the burial ritual.

First she take up a sharp knife, cut the clothes off Jonnie body.

‘Throw dem on the fire,’ she say. ‘Stay and watch. Make sure they burn up good. After, take him shirt and pants down to the river. Wash dem plenty times.’

I burn Jonnie old clothes till them turn to ash. Go down to the river, wash him good shirt and pants plenty times, then wash them again.

By the time I hang the clothes out to dry and return to the hut, Calla ready to start in on the next thing. ‘We clean the hut, clean the clothes. Now we must wash and clean the body,’ she tell me.