Sunday morning. A day of rest on the plantation, from Massa business. A day of work for we own. I wake early. Lay still, slowly shake off sleep. Enjoy the predawn quiet, because come daylight, eyes and ears must get used to the sights, the sounds of the living.

What always pull me up from sleep into a new day is the crowing of the old rooster, strutting on the stone wall. Calling loud and long to the sun, even though is still dark outside and the sun not going show him face for a little while yet. No matter how many times I lock that rooster up in the chicken coop, or at night, put him in the basket hanging from the roof to keep away them rats, him escape. Come right back. Start him morning ritual cocka-doodle-doo-ing. Once him start, nothing you can do to shut him up.

Maybe him pick this spot because me save him scrawny neck when I overhear Melon say, ‘Is time to use dat old rooster. Him nice and fat, make good stock.’

That old rooster, him been on this plantation almost as long as me, fourteen years, and I don’t want to see him end up in no pot.

Sometimes I wonder if I should let Melon chop him head off. Boil him up good, because once him start crowing, all the other rooster them start up. Calling from one hut to the next, till them crowing is like a wave of sound moving through the slave village. Make you head throb, specially if you been working all day, all night, helping out round the place during crop season and it seem like the dawn come, before she invited.

If is not the rooster breaking the morning stillness, is the scratch, scratch, scratch of the crabs trying to find a way out from the barrel I keep them in. Only one left. Must go to the wood, cross the edge of the plantation, catch some more.

Well, it turn out Calla was right when she say have to wait till I grow, to see if me going look like Massa or more like Old Massa William. Make Sammy full up with envy because every season that pass, it come clear, I look more like Massa than him do. Reach the same height, have a similar mouth. Broad shoulders. Wide forehead. The way I move and carry meself is a lot like him. Everybody can see it, but nobody say nothing bout it.