And who were we? We sighed. With each passing day, our memories merged into one gigantic past about which we could only dream. Even our surnames disintegrated as we tried, with all our might, simply to learn the first names of the one lying next to us. He was a brother now. He would be the uncle to our sons and daughters. The brother-in-law to our wives. The grandfather who would tell the story to the next generation. By the sixty-fifth day, we were a new people. Our elders would’ve been proud. First, that we had not all died. Then, that we had chosen to fight together. That we had used our names to speak life into each others’ despondent hearts. That we had put aside tribal tensions and stood as one people. That even when others jumped overboard, we called their names and sealed their memories in our minds. Yes, they would’ve nodded their approval. That, once again, our dances sustained us in battle. That our tongues and throats joined forces and created life-affirming melodies. That we’d tried, with all our might, to get free. And they would’ve even been proud that the pale boy gave us drink to quench our thirst. They would’ve given him a name, surely, to celebrate his role in our survival. And perhaps the elders would’ve been proudest of all that we’d never forgotten them.

On the sixty-sixth day, crewmen danced up on deck, drinking strong drink and playing loud music with their instruments. Maybe they rejoiced, we assumed, because they thought the rebels among us had been destroyed. We didn’t know. But we heard ranting and raving, shouting and stomping, as if all their worries had vanished. The celebration lasted far into the night. We knew because, unlike other days, they did not close and lock the latch to our compartment. Moonlight cast shadows of drunken crewmen, stumbling back and forth, grabbing our women but releasing them playfully. We even saw the silhouette of our pale angel, standing at the top of the stairs, glaring belowdecks but afraid to defy his fathers. Amidst the noise, we searched each other’s curious faces. We feared their joy would be our sorrow.

It was. We were left chained for five days. No dancing, no sexual abuse, no verbal degradation. Something was definitely amiss. We sensed it in our spirits. But there was nothing we could do. Too nervous to hum, we lay awake, day and night, in stark silence and nauseating defecation, hoping desperately for a sign of what was to come.

On the seventy-first day, the sign came. We were rustled, like corralled cattle, above deck. Certainly we’d come to dance, we thought. Mostly we were grateful simply to stand, as our joints needed exercise. But when we lifted our heads and glanced about, we gasped and stumbled in horror. Our chains rattled. Our hearts beat faster. There, in the distance, was the pale man’s land.

This was The Coming.

Part II

The landscape looked strange and overcrowded, with curious plants and bushes so green they seemed unreal. A bright, beaming sun hovered above, like a proud parent over an obedient child, radiating light in every direction. The flowers were deep red, orange, yellow, purple, and white. This vegetation stood amidst peculiar, awkward-looking trees. We frowned at them. They were tall and lean, like young unmarried men, and bare—only at the top did spindly extensions sprout forth, with the miniature arms of an acacia bush. There were other trees, too, more like our own, but smaller and less demanding. Behind them were rolling hills covered with dense, tall grass. Our cattle would’ve been pleased. The air was heavy with moisture, as if it were about to rain, but there were no clouds. All we could think about was what this place would mean for us, and what new forms our bondage might take.