Trade Paper:
ISBN: 1-887276-49-1
978-1-887276-48-8
List Price: $ 14.95
Size: 5.25" X 8"
Pages: 331
Illustration & cover art: Rafael Leonardo Black

paths of sanctuary
a novel by
ihsan bracy

chapter five in the path of dance

that night before was no sleep for any of god's children. up and down the slave row celebratory cries of unexpected laughter continued a spontaneous praise well into the first light of that great gettin' up morning.

dance awakens to find every mouth fondling the new tones of freedom. dance sits up on his pallet of rags and straw to listen. miss mary is singing some song with no intelligible words he can make out other than the occasional,

-freedom freedom,

which is punctuated with cries of,

-thank you, thank you lord jesus!

-hallelujah!

-hallelujah!

and

-praise him!

from other woman as they pass. dance could hear two impassioned voices raised in heated debate directly outside in the dirt lane separating the two rows of slave dwellings. dance stands and throwing off the last vestiges of sleep, slowly walks towards the shaft of light, which falls through the open doorway. dance shades his eyes and there stand earl and mason, face-to-face, arguing loudly

-but where you goin'?

stoically asks mason for the third time,

-just tell me that?

-just tell me that?

-does it matter? the white hairs in my beard is too many to put number to and never once in this life has i ever set foot off this hateful piece of land.

screams back an animated earl,

-all i know is tonight gonna lay my head down some where other than here.

-that's my point, exactly

continues mason,

-just where you going?~E

walking around to the ancient tree behind his shack, dance relieves walking around to the ancient tree behind his shack, dance relieves himself as he studies the early summer sky and allows himself for the first time to seriously consider what it would be like to be free. dance knows only one thing for sure, no matter what lie ahead, like earl he would leave today. dance washes in the water trough and as nobody has a mind to cook this morning he prepares a meal of last night's cold cornpone he's saved when suddenly the meeting bell behind the big house begins to ring.

dance stands among the gathered slaves and waits. after a while the screen door slowly opens and out he steps onto the back porch. he removes the ever-present brim, which usually sits upon his head whenever outside and holds it limply in his hand. in stillness the slaves watch as he stands before their silence and for a moment there is no movement. dance realizes this is the first time he's seen his head and it is completely bald. suddenly he catches a coughing fit, after which he clears his throat again and then again before beginning in a subdued but firm voice to quietly speak, after which he clears his throat again and then again before beginning in a subdued but firm voice to quietly speak,

-as of today you are no longer slaves and each of you is free to go.

there is not a sound heard in response.

-this freedom which shines so brightly is but a false friend and not to be trusted... you's all welcome to stay on and work the land as you always has done...

the silence only deepens before he adds,

-for pay.

from the darkening sky a sharp thunderclap seems to reply and give the only answer he would receive. the early summer storm's magnificent arrival on that juneteenth morning signals emancipation the only answer he would receive. the early summer storm's magnificent arrival on that juneteenth morning signals emancipation for a people and there is an undefined smell of freedom in the rain. drenched in its' downpour, dance, for the first time, walks off the home of his captivity and simply follows the sacred storm.

jubilation unbinds beneath heaven's blanket as dance, cradled in the arms of a cedar tree, spends his first master-less night counting stars in the safety offered by freedom's canopy under which there were no slaves. later that night freedom, in the form of a five-years-old spirit, gently climbs into the cedar tree where she falls soundly asleep and in love within the arms of the skinny brown-skinned boy she finds there. when morning's birds begin to sing dance opens his eyes to find onyx pools of freedom's light staring deep into his awakening, her eyes silently following his every movement.

as dance went to walk away from the cedar tree she quietly put her little hand in his. she hadn't spoken a word so when he asked her as dance went to walk away from the cedar tree she quietly put her little hand in his. she hadn't spoken a word so when he asked her name dance wasn't sure she could even talk. she looks up and softly repeats the only word she has heard that holds any meaning,

-freedom,

and in saying so it became so.

the prospect of living without slavery promises such a sweetness, life's hardships are at first unfathomable. casting their lot on the shoulders of divine destiny with the unwavering belief that its' deliverance must surely provide, the innocent soul and younger spirit set out together to find the mythical north.

CoolGrovePress is a recipient of the 2007-2008 Face Out Re-grant from the Council of Literary Magazines and Presses [CLMP] . The publication of Paths of Sanctuary has been possible in part due to this grant.