enter a world where your life has little to no value. As a matter of fact, from now on, your life is in the hands of your owner. For the time being, thatâs me. Telling you that fact is not going to make you understand it, so Mr. Whitaker is going to make what I just said very clear.â He paused briefly. âTell the prince what I just said.â
Ibo didnât move, didnât utter a sound; didnât even bat an eye. She just stared at Rutgers defiantly, like she was still in Nigeria, still on her fatherâs farm, still safe from all things dangerous and all things that offend.
âMr. Whitaker,â Rutgers began, âyou may commence.â
Whitaker said, âYa hear that, nigger? Olâ Capâem here just gimme the okay to peel the skin offân you.â
Whoo! Whoo! Whoo!
Chapter 13
âMr. Whitaker, toss the girl over the side. â
A loud gasp filled the air when the whip connected to bare black flesh and pulled away several layers of skin, immediately followed by a bloodcurdling scream emitted by the man being whipped. It startled them when they heard the power of it. The scream was almost synchronous with the sound that crackled in the ears of terrified onlookers. Blood splashed across the childrenâs faces that stood closest to the slave being lashed. It was important that the children more than the adults see the savagery, as it would forever alter their desire to defy their owners.
Sweat dripped from Mr. Whitakerâs forehead as he delivered lash after merciless lash, enjoying every bit of the punishment he doled out. He saw nothing wrong with what he was doing. This was justice; justice for his lifelong friend, Charlie. The black savages were animals and could be treated as such without remorse. Only a weak man felt sorry for the animal he killed. It was a matter of survival; survival of the fittest.
Although he enjoyed lashing the slave who had nothing to do with his friendâs death, he was tiring. Nevertheless, his anger gave him the strength to continue for more than an hour.
Rutgers noticed that the slaveâs legs were no longer holding him up and he no longer cried out. âEnough!â he commanded.
âAh, just a few more, Capâem,â Mr. Whitaker pleaded. âItâs only right that these darkies see that they canât kill a white man and get away with it.â
âI said enough!â Rutgers shouted. âHeâs lost consciousness.â
Mr. Whitaker walked over to the man and kicked him. âWake up, nigger!â
The man didnât move.
Mr. Whitaker kneeled down and checked him closer and then stood up and looked at Rutgers. âHeâs dead. And it serves him right. Charlieâs dead; now heâs dead. That makes us almost even. A few more niggers gotta die to even the score. Otherwise, it would appear that one of their lives is the same as ours. The good Lord up above wouldnât like it if we took life for life with these darkies. He just wouldnât stand for it.â
Rutgers looked at Ibo and said, âExplain it to the prince.â
Ibo looked at Amir. He was still standing tall, unmoved by what he had seen, knowing that his strength, his indomitable spirit was being transferred to her vicariously. He quickly assessed the situation. Even though he did not understand the language the Dutchmen spoke, his eyes told him everything he needed to know. This was a chess match of epic proportions, and the lives of everyone on the ship, including the Dutchmen, hung in the balance. The captain was trying to use his love for Ibo to break his will to survive. If he allowed himself to be broken, they would all be broken. He, therefore, knew he had to model the role he wanted her to play.
Even though seeing a man beaten into submission and then beaten to death rocked her to the core of her existence, she shook her head, refusing to cooperate. If Amir could take it, so could sheâat least