is real.

I do not even realize

I am crying

until Crocodile yells,

KOMM!

TWO VERY TALL MEN

in white cloths

down to their ankles

with hair braided thick

as the long daggers they clutch

stand guard,

speaking to our captors

in a tongue

that is not my own,

but close enough

to understand.

Ekutu? one of them says, handing

War Horn three oranges,

while the other

turns around to walk

through the gate.

The six of us,

starved and shaking,

our wrists bruised

and painful

from being bound

so tightly,

stand there

waiting

for some unpleasant unknown

watching

as the men snigger

with the guard

and attack

the fruit

like savages, their mouths

dripping with sap

and sick satisfaction.

THE WONDERFULS

War Horn jumps

to attention.

Crocodile and Strength follow,

sprouting up

like rice plants.

They each stand silent

bow their heads

wipe their filthy chins

and simper

like little children

when the other guard returns

marching behind

two grimy-haired,

pale-faced men

in red coats

who inspire awe

in the guards

with their hideous green eyes

and bronze firesticks

that stretch long

as tree branches.

Their accent is strange

and since they talk

with alien words

unfamiliar to our captors,

the tall guards translate.

What is this you bring? You come to us with only four, and two cripples? asks one of the red coats. No gold, no cacao for the Governor?

Boss, they are good stock for you, I promise. This one, says War Horn, pointing at the Zombie, has only a twisted ankle. The other one, the bumblefoot, is strong as an ox, I promise you. We only want a few nice things for them.

It is true, sir. They are young and fit. No illness or pox, adds Crocodile.

Tell me, then, what is your price for this cargo? the red coat asks.

THE TRANSACTION

Our King, War Horn utters,

requests

twenty-five muskets

twelve pistols

ten stone gunpowder

a basket of knives

one hundred iron bars

a bag of long cloth

a dozen white plumes

some small-small tobacco

a smoking pipe

and five bottles of rum

per head.

Your King is a grabby one, he is, says a red coat. We will send you away with half. And you keep the useless cripple.

But, boss—

The Crown does not negotiate.

You know we have come too far to leave empty-handed.

Take it or leave it.

What do you do with them?

…

You have taken so many captives, so what do you do with them? Crocodile repeats.

That is no business of yours, only that we fill your coffers, barks the other red coat. Is our trade concluded?

Yes please, War Horn says, softly, still bowing his head like a house boy.

STRENGTH

unties our wrists

while War Horn and Crocodile

collect the bounty.

I turn to see Osei

and wonder

will they let him go now

will they take him back

or worse.

The two tall guards

muscle us

through the gate,

shoving and jabbing