‘Lawd have mercy,’ Stella whisper. ‘Him going get sold,’ and her voice catch, have a little tremble.

The old woman look me up and down again, take a sharp breath, turn away.

‘Me don’t know,’ she say. ‘But the spirit dem, they never lie. Only a little bit.’ And the old woman give a long, low rolling chuckle before she take herself away, back up the path.

I must pass some kind of test, because after that, the old woman with crooked fingers and toes come every night for a visit. Make all kind of bush tea for Stella to drink, so when I suckle, the goodness of the tea pass down into me. Making sure I don’t fall prey to slave baby sickness. And when the moon turn full, she tell Stella to bathe me, out under the moonlight.

Calla is her name. That old cane-tapping woman. Always dress in a spotless white dress, a head-tie tight round her head. She don’t say much, just mutter, talking to the spirit them. But when she choose to speak, is like a roar of wisdom pouring out her mouth. Everybody stand up straight and listen.

Calla helped to bring me into this stirring world. Reached inside Stella womb to feel the top of me head. Held Stella hand tight. Wiped her brow when she was moaning and pushing, and on one last heave, it was Calla bony hands I fell into. Hands that lifted me up, wiped me face. Asked the Ancestors to give me the strength to survive the life laid out before me.

And as I start to grow and crawl bout, when Calla visit and Stella not looking, Calla wink at me, touch her head. Then touch me head in the same place. Do it many times. And a little glimmer start to glow inside. When Calla wink and do the head-touching business, the glimmer light up and I come to know is time to learn. Time to look. Time to listen good.

One day, after the sun just wake and the morning heat start to warm the earth, a backra come stand outside our hut. A not so tall, youngish-looking man with brown wavy hair, pale skin. Him eyes the colour of young caneleaves. Stella act different with him. She get all stiff. Her body tense up and she look like she try hide part of herself away, to keep it safe. Don’t seem to have a name, this man, because she only call him Massa. And him own Rock Pleasant, the plantation I born on.