Free My Name's Not Friday by Jon Walter

scrub. I know I must have left the plantation grounds by now, but I ain’t heard a by-your-leave from anyone and so I make for the river and follow it along the nearest bank where the last of the cotton fields comes right down to its edge. The only folk I see are a single line of cotton pickers way off in a field, and it seems to me I could walk out of here whenever I want.
    I’m passing a cornfield on the way back to the cabins when I see Hubbard walking up ahead of me, his green shirt tucked in tidy at the back of his breeches and a whip pointing up from the line of his belt. If I’m quick I can get to talk to him alone and I run to catch him up, my quick little feet making no more sound than a rabbit in full flight. When I get close, I call out his name. ‘Mr Hubbard! Say, Mr Hubbard!’
    The big man turns and sees me. He waits for me to reach him. ‘What do you need, Friday? You found Lizzie yet? I heard Mrs Allen’s put you in with her.’
    I shake my head. ‘I ain’t seen her yet, Mr Hubbard, but I’m going there directly.’
    Hubbard nods. ‘That’s good. The day’s almost done. She’ll be back soon. You go wait for her there and tell her that the mistress has said you’re to come in with her.’
    ‘I will, sir. I’ll do that. Only there was something else, Mr Hubbard. Something I wanted to say to you. You see, sir, I think you should know …’ I stumble on my words, too anxious to get ’em out quickly. ‘My name ain’t Friday,’ I tell him. ‘My name is Samuel, sir, and I was taken from my home in the orphanage and sold at the auction by a man named Gloucester. He’s a rogue trader, sir. I’m certain of it. He never had the right to sell me and he forged my papers,but the thing is this, you see sir, I have a brother by the name of Joshua and he’s only very little.’ I take a quick breath, not wanting to stop till I’ve told him everything. ‘I’ve got to look after him cos he’s got no one else to do it. Do you see, Mr Hubbard? What I’m saying is that there’s only him and me. There ain’t no one else can help him.’
    The big man has been listening closely, I can tell. He has bowed his head, his eyes staring to the edge of the field as he concentrates on what I’m telling him. He puts a calm hand on my shoulder. ‘Who’ve you told ’bout this?’
    I take a deep breath. ‘Only you.’
    He bends closer, so we’re face to face. ‘You ever been whipped, Friday?’
    ‘No, sir, I never have.’
    He slaps my face hard enough that I go spinning to the ground, then he takes the whip from his belt and the end of it falls to the ground as he stands over me. ‘I ain’t never been whipped either,’ he tells me grimly. ‘Never once. And that’s the way it’s gonna stay, Friday.’
    I ain’t cried for a long time, but a tear escapes me now. ‘Don’t you believe me?’ I plead with his boots. ‘I thought you’d believe me!’
    ‘Don’t matter if I believe you or I don’t. It won’t change a thing for either of us. Do you understand that? I advised Mrs Allen to buy you, even though you was off the catalogue and had no references. Now, if you tell her you ain’t no slave, do you know what will happen?’
    I made a mistake telling Hubbard and nothing I can say will put it right. I want to hurt him. I want to get up and punch him.
    He flicks the edge of his boot into my face so it cuffs the side of my eye. ‘Well, do you?’
    ‘What’ll happen?’ I spit out.
    ‘She’ll ask me to whip you till you stop telling lies and then she’ll most likely have me whipped as well. Do you understand me? It won’t change a thing, but it’ll hurt the both of us like hell, though like I said, I ain’t never been lashed. I’m just taking other people’s word for it.’ He leans right over me. ‘Around here, it’s me that does the whipping when it’s needed.’
    And then he offers me his hand to help me back on my feet.
    Well, I refuse to take it. I get up on my own two feet, my eyes