“You helped to start something big, yeah,” Koji said. “The unions have grown tenfold, their voices louder than ever.”

“Not for nothing, eh?”

Koji shook his head. “You did good.”

Razor smiled and looked at him in the eyes. “You the only one blaming yourself all these years, you need to let me go, yeah.”

“No, don’t. Stay.”

Razor suddenly appeared like the young boy Koji first met, mischievous and playful. “Got other business,” he said.

He turned around and lifted his hand in a wave as he disappeared back into the fields. There was the sudden rustling of the leaves, and Koji could have sworn he heard Laki nipping and panting after him.

“Razor, wait!” Koji yelled, quickly following him into the row of cane, but Razor was already gone.

“Wait!” he said again into the darkness.

Koji’s eyes snapped open in the breathless room. He was sweaty and his forehead itched. “Wait,” he whispered one more time, though he knew Razor was already gone.

Ghost Voices

Ghost Voices

RAZOR, 1918

I’m early and peek out through the curtains from what was once the kitchen to see the workers filing into the old, abandoned cabin tucked away in the rain forest, mud-caked boots thumping in, bringing with them the stink of sweat and the sour smell of damp, dirty clothing that quickly fills the small space, yeah. The cabin is roughly a mile from the plantation. A loud splattering of rain slaps the roof, which I hope won’t leak too badly. Some arrive on foot, others in the backs of trucks whose watery headlights approach slowly down the muddy road. A crowded commotion fills the room. Benches scrape against the rough wooden planks as voices rise and fall in waves and every seat quickly fills. Behind me I hear a scratching sound and turn to see a rat scurrying along the wall and quickly out of sight. My mouth is as dry as sand, yeah, my heart racing just like it always does before one of our meetings. This looks to be one of the biggest turnouts yet.

Growing up, it was all fun and games that kept me going through the long, hot days working in the fields. Koji was always the hard worker, the serious one. Not that I didn’t have dreams, eh. No one wanted to cut cane more than I did. I dreamed of the razor-sharp machete in my hand, slicing through the cane like silk. But it wasn’t a talent I had. It’s grueling, exhausting work, yeah, and I was a lousy cutter at best. Didn’t have the speed or the swing that came naturally to Koji, who thought nothing of helping me by throwing his cane stalks onto my pile when I fell behind.