Half an hour later, they were ordered out of the hold and off the boat. They stepped onto a gangplank and climbed up the steep walkway to the deck of the
What they saw shocked them. For humans hardened by cruelty and abuse, the sight was even more alarming. Dozens of African men squatted or sat in tight groups waiting to be told what to do. They watched the women come aboard. Around the edge of the deck were white men with guns, glaring at their captives. Tied to a mast in the middle of the deck was an African man in the process of being bullwhipped. His blood dripped onto the wooden boards. Next to him, on another mast, was a white man, also naked and bloodied. The brute with the whip was laughing and talking loudly in English. One lash for the African. The next for the sailor. He was in no hurry.
Mercer had passed through Dulles International before. It was a major airport, an important crossroads that welcomed people from all corners of the world. In the main terminal, the arrivals and departures boards listed hundreds of flights to and from everywhere. Every airline of any significance had a presence. Mercer enjoyed gazing at the boards and dreaming of all the places she wanted to see. The world was at her fingertips, and carriers such as Icelandair, All Nippon Airways, Royal Air Maroc, and Lufthansa could take her away.
They were killing three hours as they waited for their flight to London. Thomas was off stretching his legs and hunting coffee. Mercer put down the Dark Isle book. She was halfway through and needed a break. Somewhere back there in the distant memories of her education, she was certain she had been forced by a well-meaning teacher to read about enslaved people in America. She knew some of the basics, but history had never held her interest. She’d read
A crowd of Africans approached. The women were adorned in brightly colored robes and head scarves. The men wore fashionable dark suits with white shirts and loud ties. They were in a lively mood and talked at full volume in richly accented English. Other passengers stared as they walked by and gave them a wide berth. They rolled their luggage to the Nigerian Air desk and got in line.
Mercer flashed back to the haunting story of Nalla and the inhumanity of her first and only trip across the Atlantic from West Africa. She smiled at the Nigerians and asked herself how her ancestors could have tolerated such cruelty to their ancestors. The very idea was overwhelming.
Thomas was back and handed her coffee in a paper cup. He said, “You’ve hardly spoken to me since we left.”
“So?”
“So, we’re newlyweds and we’re supposed to be thoroughly smitten with each other.”
“Are you smitten?”
“Of course, and I’m thinking of nothing but more consummating.”
“Sorry I brought it up. I’m smitten too. Now you feel better?”
“I suppose. Not really. How’s the book?”
“It’s pretty amazing. The people who settled on Dark Isle were slaves from West Africa. Ever been to West Africa?”
“No. I’ve been to Cape Town and Nairobi.”
“Me neither. It’s a fascinating story.”
“You found a plot yet?”
“Maybe. The story follows the enslavement of one of the author’s ancestors, a young mother named Nalla, who was kidnapped by slave traders. She lost her child, husband, family, everything.”
“When?”
“Around 1760.”
“How did she get to Dark Isle?”
“I don’t know. I haven’t gotten that far yet.”
“Are you going to ignore me all the way across the Atlantic?”
“Probably, until I finish the book.”
“I’m not sure I’m cut out for married life.”
“Too late. The knot is tied. Go read your own book.”
Lovely took a curious turn with her narrative. Once Nalla was finally on the ship, the author paused and gave the reader some history to put the slave trade in perspective. Her research was impressive. She wrote:
