Jon Smithie
Tribune
Thought I'd post a story I wrote years ago. I meant to write more chapters, but I think this works as a stand alone.
The students emerged from the van, stiff from the last few hours of the drive. The air was humid and still and clung to them as they stretched and looked around. In front of them were a few huts made of sticks and mud.
"Here we are," Professor Wilkerson said. She was an attractive woman in her early thirties. She was dressed in a tank top, an ankle length summer skirt, and fashionable sunglasses, which she took off to reveal large blue eyes. She was a popular teacher, both for her looks and her unique approach to history, but even she’d had trouble selling the idea of re-enacting slavery for a week during break. It was understood by all that this was not sanctioned by the university. She spoke with a southern drawl that made her seem even more feminine.
"These huts symbolize your village. You’re now Africans, and this is your home until a party of Arab slavers kidnaps you. Unfortunately we’ll have to skip over a few steps in the process that would ultimately bring you to the plantation. My family’s plantation, actually. All around you, to the coast is old Wilkerson land. And yes, my family made its fortune off the backs of black African slaves. And we kept our fortune by selling out the South when the Union occupied the area. Like Scarlet O’Hara, the land has always been our first loyalty. But enough of my unsavory family history. Here you will stay in equally rudimentary accommodations and work dawn to dusk. Good times will be had by all. Seriously, I would like to thank you all for volunteering to spend your break here, slaving away. . ." a student or two groaned, "No pun intended, of course." Professor Wilkerson continued. "I think we will all have an extremely valuable learning experience. The operative word being ‘experience.’ It takes a great deal of courage to try something like this, to experience, as nearly as possible, the lives of the past. So, I salute you. Frankly I think it’s good if your anxious right now, maybe a little fearful. Once I drive away you guys will have to do whatever you’re told, by whoever tells you, or suffer for it. Now, we collected all cell phones, snacks, sodas. Nobody’s hiding a cell, or a pager, or a bag of Fritos, right? Time to get yourselves in the mindset. You guys are now Africans of the early 1800’s."
Janice took Amie’s hand. "This’ll be cool" she whispered. "I’m so glad you came with me."
Amie was not a history major, was not even in the class, but her best friend Janice had talked her into it, and Professor Wilkerson had assured her that she would talk to the Chair of the Psychology department to get Amie some kind of credit. Amie planned to write a paper of the experience, something informal, perhaps humorous, about the presumption of white upper middle class college students pretending to be black African slaves for a week. She hadn’t told Janice about the angle she wanted to take, because Janice was so earnest. Alicia had expressed disappointment that no African Americans were with them, for they, the blacks, could have been the students' overseers. Alicia was an attractive lesbian with short black hair who had come out recently, and was now filled with the fervor of the recent convert. Kathy, another of the students, was active in women’s rights; also very liberal and earnest. She worked in the rape counseling center at college. She wore glasses, was blind without them, she said. She was adamant that women shouldn’t be judged by their appearance and went to no trouble with her own. It was an irony of nature that she had a voluptuous figure, with large full breasts and round hips. When she got in the van her first words were that she’d started her period. She said it loud enough for the men to hear.
"I don’t know what slave women did, I guess just let it run down their legs."
"TMI," Lisa said, rolling her eyes.
"Well, I guess I just don’t think it’s anything to be ashamed of. I figure we’ll get to know a lot about each other over the next week."
Lisa was very pretty and fit and looked like a cheerleader, which in fact she was. Matthew was her boyfriend, and was on the cheerleading squad with Lisa. He, like Amie, had been talked into coming along. No one knew why Dylan had come. He was a thin, pale, red haired young man. He was in the class, but was not a history major, and for the most part kept to himself. Amie and Janice were childhood friends and had shared many adventures, their first drink, their first joint; they had been on a double date when they had first been kissed. They roomed together in college. Janice was the loud one, more outgoing. She dyed her hair blonde and had a pretty smile and was always optimistic. She spoke her mind, sometimes without thinking. Amie was quieter, more thoughtful. She was by far the prettiest of the girls. She had long dark chestnut hair and wide dark green eyes that had caused many a young man to stutter or forget what he’d been saying when she looked in his eyes.
Despite convincing herself of the humor of the situation Amie couldn’t help but be nervous now that the long van ride was over, and she and the other students were at the plantation were they would be held in "bondage".
A couple weeks earlier Professor Wilkerson had made the parameters clear: "We’re going to try to re-enact slavery on an antebellum Southern plantation as nearly as possible. You will be fed well enough, but on simple food, and you'll wear simple clothes. You'll be worked hard, and punished as the whimsy of your overseers dictate."
"You mean, like whipped, or something?" She was asked.
Professor Wilkerson had laughed, "Just now I wish I had a mustache, so I could twirl it like Simon Legree! Of course safety is our first concern. No one is going to get hurt. Obviously you’re not actually slaves, but the object of the exercise is to recreate the experience as closely as possible. So physical restraint, such as slave shackles, of course, but for very limited amounts of time, and circulation will be frequently assessed. You may be put in the stocks or the pillory, again, for very limited amounts of time. But absolutely nothing that could cause any sort of mark or pain. So no, no whipping. We're not going to be that historically accurate. However, make no mistake. This is not for the faint of heart. This re-enactment will require fortitude from you guys. And the signing of certain legal documents absolving me of all responsibility."
That had brought a laugh at the time.
Professor Wilkerson had finished her remarks, and checked the expensive wristwatch on her slender wrist. She scooped the summer skirt behind her long thighs and slid into the driver's seat of the van.
"Alright then, ladies and gentlemen," Professor Wilkerson said, "I shall now leave you to the tender mercies of the Arab slave traders who should be attacking and burning your village momentarily. As you guys say, ‘see ya, wouldn’t want to be ya.’"
With those words and a wave, Professor Wilkerson drove off.
"God, she’s hot," Matthew sighed. Lisa punched him in the arm. "For an older woman, I mean."
After a few minutes Dylan, asked, "So, what do we do now? We just wait for the slave traders?"
"You in a big rush?" Matthew asked Dylan. And continued, "Anything to eat around here? I sure could eat something. Let’s check out the huts. Giving up the phone’s one thing, but why couldn’t we bring something to munch on? No Pepsi, no chips?"
"I’m sure they stocked the refrigerators before we got here. " Lisa said.
They kept close to the "village." They checked out the huts. They talked desultorily. Amie looked around at the others, and at the huge moss-hung oaks surrounding them. The whole world seemed hushed, expectant. Amie felt a sense of disquiet. She regretted arguing with her parents over this. they had thought it a terrible idea. But she had reminded them forcefully that she was over eighteen and could do as she damned well pleased, and not to expect to hear from her for a week.
"Do you think Wilkerson forgot about us? I’d really like to get something to eat, even if it is just, you know, corn mush or something. In fact, I wouldn’t mind a big steaming bowl of corn mush right about now." Matthew said.
"You might have to wait on that," Lisa said. She pointed. "I think that’s our Arab slavers now."
"No shit," Matthew said, spotting three figures moving through the trees in front of the cabins. "Are they carrying guns?" The other students looked at the "slavers," as well.
Suddenly several large dark men came up behind them. The figures Lisa had pointed out were soon upon them also. Four of the men looked the part of ruthless, greedy slavers. Their faces were dark and cruel, their beards greasy, They smirked at the students and spoke in a language the students didn’t recognize. It sounded something like Spanish, but harsh and guttural. They stank of unwashed bodies and rotten teeth. They handled their guns casually, pointing them at no one in particular. Another two men held cameras, one a camcorder, the other an expensive digital still camera. They circled the students, apparently getting reaction shots. One of the men was relatively well dressed and groomed. He was the leader, for he was ordering the others in that strange language. The men with the guns motioned everyone to the ground. The students looked to each other in confusion, and dropped. Quickly several of the slavers were among the students, pulling their wrists behind their backs and binding them with leather thongs.
Amie didn’t resist when the smelly man stood over her grunting a command. She put her wrists behind her and winced as they were cinched tightly. She gasped as her elbows were drawn together. Then her ankles and knees were bound as well. She cried out in surprise and pain as her wrists and ankles were drawn up and bound together.
"Okay, okay, that’s enough," she cried as she was left helpless and arched in a painful hogtie. "Please, it’s too tight, it hurts!" She looked up into the lens of a camera.
In answer the man jerked her jean skirt up to her waist and smacked her on her pantied butt.
"Oh!" Amie shouted in shock. "Stop it!"
The man responded by jerking her panties down to her knees. He smacked her again, harder. And pulled her hair back, forcing her into a severe arch. His face in hers, he yelled at her, jerking her hair, holding her in the arch, his spittle hitting her in the face and his fetid breath causing her to gasp in revulsion. He let go of her hair and let her drop. The others had been served much the same way, and were glancing at each other for reassurance, as the photographers circulated among them busily taking pictures.
"Dude," Matthew said, to no one in particular. "This is fucked up!"
The men had finished binding the students. They moved away from the small helpless group and talked among themselves, joking and pointing. The only one who hadn’t been bound was Lisa. She had been held by one of the slavers while the others hogtied the students. Now the leader interrupted the other men and spoke to the students with a commanding voice.
"Look," he said in a slight, though unidentifiable accent. "You are slaves now. You’ll do as you’re told." Then he pointed at Lisa. "You strip."
The video photographer spoke to the leader, as he hurried over with his camera.
The leader, a bit exasperated, repeated himself after the photographer put the camcorder to his shoulder.
"You’re slaves and you’ll do as told. Strip."
"Um," Lisa said, "Am I supposed to have lines? I don’t know my lines."
The man slapped her across the face. Lisa would have fallen but for the slaver gripping her arm and jerking her upright as her knees buckled. Tears sprang to her face.
"Stop it!" she cried. "You hit me!"
The leader pulled a gleaming curved knife from his waist. Like the guns, it was not a prop, not for play, but a well cared for weapon. From the slick grace with which he drew it, it was obvious it was an old friend. He held it unselfconsciously, without apparent menace.
"Hey, fuck you, asshole!" yelled Matthew.
Immediately one of the slavers flipped Matthew on his side and kicked him in the belly. Matthew grunted in agony. A wooden wedge was forced into his mouth and bound behind his head. His face was bright red and his eyes bulged as he fought for breath.
"Stop it!" Lisa demanded. "That’s enough; what are you doing? This is bullshit! Untie them now! And put away your weapons and those stupid cameras!"
"Excuse me! Guys!" Janice cried from were she was hogtied on the ground. "We’re students of Dr. Wilkerson, okay? And I think things are already getting a little out of hand. If we could just turn it down a notch? I know we all signed up for this, but you could’ve really hurt Matthew over there, and I’m sure that’s not what Dr. Wilkerson wanted!"
Amie’s wrists and back hurt already, and she’d only been bound like this for a few minutes. The shock and embarrassment of being exposed from the waist down and having it recorded on camera was now receding into the burning ache of her strained position and bound arms and legs. She closed her eyes, trying to calm herself. Janice’s appeal brought her back to reality.
"Oh God, please, get me out of this," she thought desperately. She had a very bad feeling. Janice’s words, rather than calming her, were making her sick with fear.
Several of the other students’ voiced their outrage now as well of the men’s treatment of Matthew.
The leader turned his attention from Lisa and smiled at Janice. He gave curt orders, and one of the men cut the cords binding her and walked her over beside Lisa.
"I don’t think you understand, I mean what I’m trying to say is that I don’t think Dr. Wilkerson would find this appropriate," Janice said. "We all realize this is supposed to be about the experience of slavery, but I think the guns are really unnecessary. And you don’t have to hit. . ."
SLAVERY 101
The students emerged from the van, stiff from the last few hours of the drive. The air was humid and still and clung to them as they stretched and looked around. In front of them were a few huts made of sticks and mud.
"Here we are," Professor Wilkerson said. She was an attractive woman in her early thirties. She was dressed in a tank top, an ankle length summer skirt, and fashionable sunglasses, which she took off to reveal large blue eyes. She was a popular teacher, both for her looks and her unique approach to history, but even she’d had trouble selling the idea of re-enacting slavery for a week during break. It was understood by all that this was not sanctioned by the university. She spoke with a southern drawl that made her seem even more feminine.
"These huts symbolize your village. You’re now Africans, and this is your home until a party of Arab slavers kidnaps you. Unfortunately we’ll have to skip over a few steps in the process that would ultimately bring you to the plantation. My family’s plantation, actually. All around you, to the coast is old Wilkerson land. And yes, my family made its fortune off the backs of black African slaves. And we kept our fortune by selling out the South when the Union occupied the area. Like Scarlet O’Hara, the land has always been our first loyalty. But enough of my unsavory family history. Here you will stay in equally rudimentary accommodations and work dawn to dusk. Good times will be had by all. Seriously, I would like to thank you all for volunteering to spend your break here, slaving away. . ." a student or two groaned, "No pun intended, of course." Professor Wilkerson continued. "I think we will all have an extremely valuable learning experience. The operative word being ‘experience.’ It takes a great deal of courage to try something like this, to experience, as nearly as possible, the lives of the past. So, I salute you. Frankly I think it’s good if your anxious right now, maybe a little fearful. Once I drive away you guys will have to do whatever you’re told, by whoever tells you, or suffer for it. Now, we collected all cell phones, snacks, sodas. Nobody’s hiding a cell, or a pager, or a bag of Fritos, right? Time to get yourselves in the mindset. You guys are now Africans of the early 1800’s."
Janice took Amie’s hand. "This’ll be cool" she whispered. "I’m so glad you came with me."
Amie was not a history major, was not even in the class, but her best friend Janice had talked her into it, and Professor Wilkerson had assured her that she would talk to the Chair of the Psychology department to get Amie some kind of credit. Amie planned to write a paper of the experience, something informal, perhaps humorous, about the presumption of white upper middle class college students pretending to be black African slaves for a week. She hadn’t told Janice about the angle she wanted to take, because Janice was so earnest. Alicia had expressed disappointment that no African Americans were with them, for they, the blacks, could have been the students' overseers. Alicia was an attractive lesbian with short black hair who had come out recently, and was now filled with the fervor of the recent convert. Kathy, another of the students, was active in women’s rights; also very liberal and earnest. She worked in the rape counseling center at college. She wore glasses, was blind without them, she said. She was adamant that women shouldn’t be judged by their appearance and went to no trouble with her own. It was an irony of nature that she had a voluptuous figure, with large full breasts and round hips. When she got in the van her first words were that she’d started her period. She said it loud enough for the men to hear.
"I don’t know what slave women did, I guess just let it run down their legs."
"TMI," Lisa said, rolling her eyes.
"Well, I guess I just don’t think it’s anything to be ashamed of. I figure we’ll get to know a lot about each other over the next week."
Lisa was very pretty and fit and looked like a cheerleader, which in fact she was. Matthew was her boyfriend, and was on the cheerleading squad with Lisa. He, like Amie, had been talked into coming along. No one knew why Dylan had come. He was a thin, pale, red haired young man. He was in the class, but was not a history major, and for the most part kept to himself. Amie and Janice were childhood friends and had shared many adventures, their first drink, their first joint; they had been on a double date when they had first been kissed. They roomed together in college. Janice was the loud one, more outgoing. She dyed her hair blonde and had a pretty smile and was always optimistic. She spoke her mind, sometimes without thinking. Amie was quieter, more thoughtful. She was by far the prettiest of the girls. She had long dark chestnut hair and wide dark green eyes that had caused many a young man to stutter or forget what he’d been saying when she looked in his eyes.
Despite convincing herself of the humor of the situation Amie couldn’t help but be nervous now that the long van ride was over, and she and the other students were at the plantation were they would be held in "bondage".
A couple weeks earlier Professor Wilkerson had made the parameters clear: "We’re going to try to re-enact slavery on an antebellum Southern plantation as nearly as possible. You will be fed well enough, but on simple food, and you'll wear simple clothes. You'll be worked hard, and punished as the whimsy of your overseers dictate."
"You mean, like whipped, or something?" She was asked.
Professor Wilkerson had laughed, "Just now I wish I had a mustache, so I could twirl it like Simon Legree! Of course safety is our first concern. No one is going to get hurt. Obviously you’re not actually slaves, but the object of the exercise is to recreate the experience as closely as possible. So physical restraint, such as slave shackles, of course, but for very limited amounts of time, and circulation will be frequently assessed. You may be put in the stocks or the pillory, again, for very limited amounts of time. But absolutely nothing that could cause any sort of mark or pain. So no, no whipping. We're not going to be that historically accurate. However, make no mistake. This is not for the faint of heart. This re-enactment will require fortitude from you guys. And the signing of certain legal documents absolving me of all responsibility."
That had brought a laugh at the time.
Professor Wilkerson had finished her remarks, and checked the expensive wristwatch on her slender wrist. She scooped the summer skirt behind her long thighs and slid into the driver's seat of the van.
"Alright then, ladies and gentlemen," Professor Wilkerson said, "I shall now leave you to the tender mercies of the Arab slave traders who should be attacking and burning your village momentarily. As you guys say, ‘see ya, wouldn’t want to be ya.’"
With those words and a wave, Professor Wilkerson drove off.
"God, she’s hot," Matthew sighed. Lisa punched him in the arm. "For an older woman, I mean."
After a few minutes Dylan, asked, "So, what do we do now? We just wait for the slave traders?"
"You in a big rush?" Matthew asked Dylan. And continued, "Anything to eat around here? I sure could eat something. Let’s check out the huts. Giving up the phone’s one thing, but why couldn’t we bring something to munch on? No Pepsi, no chips?"
"I’m sure they stocked the refrigerators before we got here. " Lisa said.
They kept close to the "village." They checked out the huts. They talked desultorily. Amie looked around at the others, and at the huge moss-hung oaks surrounding them. The whole world seemed hushed, expectant. Amie felt a sense of disquiet. She regretted arguing with her parents over this. they had thought it a terrible idea. But she had reminded them forcefully that she was over eighteen and could do as she damned well pleased, and not to expect to hear from her for a week.
"Do you think Wilkerson forgot about us? I’d really like to get something to eat, even if it is just, you know, corn mush or something. In fact, I wouldn’t mind a big steaming bowl of corn mush right about now." Matthew said.
"You might have to wait on that," Lisa said. She pointed. "I think that’s our Arab slavers now."
"No shit," Matthew said, spotting three figures moving through the trees in front of the cabins. "Are they carrying guns?" The other students looked at the "slavers," as well.
Suddenly several large dark men came up behind them. The figures Lisa had pointed out were soon upon them also. Four of the men looked the part of ruthless, greedy slavers. Their faces were dark and cruel, their beards greasy, They smirked at the students and spoke in a language the students didn’t recognize. It sounded something like Spanish, but harsh and guttural. They stank of unwashed bodies and rotten teeth. They handled their guns casually, pointing them at no one in particular. Another two men held cameras, one a camcorder, the other an expensive digital still camera. They circled the students, apparently getting reaction shots. One of the men was relatively well dressed and groomed. He was the leader, for he was ordering the others in that strange language. The men with the guns motioned everyone to the ground. The students looked to each other in confusion, and dropped. Quickly several of the slavers were among the students, pulling their wrists behind their backs and binding them with leather thongs.
Amie didn’t resist when the smelly man stood over her grunting a command. She put her wrists behind her and winced as they were cinched tightly. She gasped as her elbows were drawn together. Then her ankles and knees were bound as well. She cried out in surprise and pain as her wrists and ankles were drawn up and bound together.
"Okay, okay, that’s enough," she cried as she was left helpless and arched in a painful hogtie. "Please, it’s too tight, it hurts!" She looked up into the lens of a camera.
In answer the man jerked her jean skirt up to her waist and smacked her on her pantied butt.
"Oh!" Amie shouted in shock. "Stop it!"
The man responded by jerking her panties down to her knees. He smacked her again, harder. And pulled her hair back, forcing her into a severe arch. His face in hers, he yelled at her, jerking her hair, holding her in the arch, his spittle hitting her in the face and his fetid breath causing her to gasp in revulsion. He let go of her hair and let her drop. The others had been served much the same way, and were glancing at each other for reassurance, as the photographers circulated among them busily taking pictures.
"Dude," Matthew said, to no one in particular. "This is fucked up!"
The men had finished binding the students. They moved away from the small helpless group and talked among themselves, joking and pointing. The only one who hadn’t been bound was Lisa. She had been held by one of the slavers while the others hogtied the students. Now the leader interrupted the other men and spoke to the students with a commanding voice.
"Look," he said in a slight, though unidentifiable accent. "You are slaves now. You’ll do as you’re told." Then he pointed at Lisa. "You strip."
The video photographer spoke to the leader, as he hurried over with his camera.
The leader, a bit exasperated, repeated himself after the photographer put the camcorder to his shoulder.
"You’re slaves and you’ll do as told. Strip."
"Um," Lisa said, "Am I supposed to have lines? I don’t know my lines."
The man slapped her across the face. Lisa would have fallen but for the slaver gripping her arm and jerking her upright as her knees buckled. Tears sprang to her face.
"Stop it!" she cried. "You hit me!"
The leader pulled a gleaming curved knife from his waist. Like the guns, it was not a prop, not for play, but a well cared for weapon. From the slick grace with which he drew it, it was obvious it was an old friend. He held it unselfconsciously, without apparent menace.
"Hey, fuck you, asshole!" yelled Matthew.
Immediately one of the slavers flipped Matthew on his side and kicked him in the belly. Matthew grunted in agony. A wooden wedge was forced into his mouth and bound behind his head. His face was bright red and his eyes bulged as he fought for breath.
"Stop it!" Lisa demanded. "That’s enough; what are you doing? This is bullshit! Untie them now! And put away your weapons and those stupid cameras!"
"Excuse me! Guys!" Janice cried from were she was hogtied on the ground. "We’re students of Dr. Wilkerson, okay? And I think things are already getting a little out of hand. If we could just turn it down a notch? I know we all signed up for this, but you could’ve really hurt Matthew over there, and I’m sure that’s not what Dr. Wilkerson wanted!"
Amie’s wrists and back hurt already, and she’d only been bound like this for a few minutes. The shock and embarrassment of being exposed from the waist down and having it recorded on camera was now receding into the burning ache of her strained position and bound arms and legs. She closed her eyes, trying to calm herself. Janice’s appeal brought her back to reality.
"Oh God, please, get me out of this," she thought desperately. She had a very bad feeling. Janice’s words, rather than calming her, were making her sick with fear.
Several of the other students’ voiced their outrage now as well of the men’s treatment of Matthew.
The leader turned his attention from Lisa and smiled at Janice. He gave curt orders, and one of the men cut the cords binding her and walked her over beside Lisa.
"I don’t think you understand, I mean what I’m trying to say is that I don’t think Dr. Wilkerson would find this appropriate," Janice said. "We all realize this is supposed to be about the experience of slavery, but I think the guns are really unnecessary. And you don’t have to hit. . ."
