“Get me another gin and tonic, would ya?” Ronald bellowed as he dangled his feet over the sides of the swan-shaped raft in his backyard swimming pool. Diane, his trophy wife, lay on the chaise lounge on the patio, her bikini top unlaced.
“Now?” she yelled back.
“Of course, now. Now’s when I want it.”
Diane sat up and began to lace her bikini bra. “You don’t have to do that,” her husband said with a leering grin. She stared back at him, scrunched up her nose, then continued to tie the back of her bra. She went into the kitchen and sauntered back with a tall glass of gin and tonic. Ronald paddled the raft to the edge of the pool to meet her. She leaned down to give her husband his drink, reached behind with her free hand and untied the bow of her bikini bra, baring her breasts. “Drink up, you letch,” she chuckled. Ronald nearly dropped his glass into the pool while he ogled his wife’s bare bosom. “Seen enough?”
****
Ronald Smugland owned a huge home in Scarsdale, NY, a Lamborghini, Porsche, and a BMW; the latter for his wife, and a substantial investment portfolio. “I couldn’t have gotten where I am feeling

sorry for anyone. I always have to think of myself first and foremost,” he said to his tennis buddies at the Westchester Country Club. Some members of the club were wary of him; he had only a few business associates and fewer friends. He was a good tennis player, vicious on the court, often slamming the tennis ball directly at his opponents, laughing as they flinched.
He employed twenty-five workers at RS Furniture Co. Most of his employees were Eastern European, Mexican and South American immigrants, many without proper work permits. Ronald had become wealthy on the backs of his workers, whom he paid barely enough to keep them just above the poverty level. “They should get down on their knees and thank me for even giving them a job,” he told his wife. He allowed some of his employees to sleep in a small, windowless room at the rear of the factory floor. He provided cots, a small refrigerator and a hotplate for their meals, for which he deducted $5 per day from their meager paycheck. “See how generous I am to my workers?” he claimed. “They’re like insects. If one leaves, another will take their place. But I don’t hire any Jews or Blacks; they’re trouble makers and hard to keep in line. I’m fine with the others.”
****
Her bikini firmly back in place, Diane dove into the pool. She rested her elbows on the side of Ronald’s raft. Her long blond hair clung to the sides of her face, framing her beauty. “You just gonna sit here all day?” she said.
“I might just do that,” Ronald responded.
“Not if I have any say about it,” she exclaimed and flipped the raft over, laughing.
“Hey, what the hell are you doing,” Ronald shouted as he tumbled into the water, sinking halfway to the bottom, swallowing a mouthful of water in the process.
He swam up to the surface, sputtering and coughing. “That wasn’t funny,” he said gasping for air. There was no response. He looked around and realized that he was no longer in his pool, but in a shallow river in the woods. He was covered with pond scum, weeds and Spanish moss that had fallen off the trees. Ronald shook his head in disbelief. What the hell just happened? And where am I? he thought. He looked from side to side trying to get his bearings. He began to panic as the sounds of barking hound dogs coming from the far bank of the river reached him. All he could think of was, I’ve got to get out of here. As he swam toward the near shore, he noticed that his hands and arms were dark brown. Instead of wearing his favorite Billabong swim trunks, he was dressed in

threadbare cotton trousers and an A-frame undershirt with a gaping hole in the center. What the hell is going on? he thought again. This can’t be real!
“He must’ve jumped in the river,” someone yelled as the sounds of barking hounds drew nearer. “Those damned runaways are drivin’ me crazy,” another voice yelled. “Gonna whup this’n good if’n we get ’im. Damn worthless beings, the lot of them.”
Oh my God, Ronald thought. I’m not worthless; I’m a human being!!! He dragged himself up on the bank and began to run through the woods. His bare feet stung as he was not used to running without shoes. After what seemed an eternity, he slowed to catch his breath, leaning against a cottonwood tree. The sound of the barking dogs was now farther away. Ronald was still in a daze from the unexplainable situation in which he now found himself. Gotta keep going, get away from here, find someplace safe to hide, he thought. He looked once again at his arms and hands. This time he examined his legs and torso. There was no doubt about it; he was a Black man. Can’t allow myself time to think of an explanation, just gotta keep running and finding safety – if there is such a place.
He continued to run through the woods as if his life depended on it. Which it did. After an hour, Ronald came to a clearing and hid behind a tree. He noticed a group of slaves at work, tilling the soil about fifty yards away. Although the sun was setting, it was still sweltering hot. Sweat streamed out of every pore of his body. He was exhausted and breathing heavily.
One of the slaves looked up, whispered to the woman working beside him, and pointed towards the trees at the edge of the clearing. Ronald immediately sank to the ground, attempting to hide in the leaves. He put his hands over his head and cried. Oh no, they’re going to kill me. I know it. Two slaves approached quietly.
“What choo doin’ heah, boy?” the man whispered as he knelt beside Ronald.
“Is you alright?” the woman asked. “What yo name is, boy?”
Ronald lay still, shivering with fear.
“Is you done escaped?” the man asked. “Talk to me, boy, and make it quick, ‘fore someone fine us heah witchoo.”
“Help me, please help me,” Ronald begged. “I don’t know where I am and who’s chasing me,” he continued, bursting into tears.

“Quick, Tippy,” the woman said. “Hep me get ‘im inna house ‘fore Massa see us. Good thing sun already done set.”
Once inside the wooden shack they called home, Ronald was led to the far corner away from the door and window. The woman dipped a ladle into a bucket of water and gave it to him, which he swallowed it in one gulp. “Mah name Tippy,” said the man. “Dis heah my wife, Bessie. Massa let us jump da broom las’ yeah. Now you tell me yo’ name an’ where you from?”
Ronald wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. He trembled as he spoke. “My name is Ronald Smugland. I live in Scarsdale, New York. I have no idea where I am or how I got here, wherever this is.”
“You is on Massa Jones’ plantation heah in Sou’ Cahlina. Ah done nevva heard of Scahsdale Noo Yawk. Is dat up nawth? Dat where da White folks live, right, boy? You ain’t no White. You a Black like rest of us slaves.”
“South Carolina???” Wait, what year is this?”
“Ah ain’t zackly sure o’ da yeah. Bessie, does you know what yeah dis is?”
“Ah heah Massa Jones talkin’ bout sumpin like eighteen-fiddy sumpin. But us colored folk don’ think too much ‘bout what yeah ‘tis. We jes work an’ work an’ work; sun up ta sundown.”
“Who yo’ massa be, boy?” Tippy continued. “How long you been runnin’? You betta hope he don’ fine you, else he gonna whup you bloody ass or else kill you outright. Ol’ Toby what’s settin’ on his porch ovah deah got half his foot chop off by his massa when he tried to run away few yeahs ago. Dat was ‘foe Massa Jones bought him. Massa Jones is tough, but ain’t bad as de other massas.”
Ronald sat on the floor sobbing uncontrollably. “Calm down, boy. You is safe heah, but only fo’ a while.”
Attempting to regain his senses, he asked, “Do you have a mirror?”
When he saw his image in the small broken shard that Tippy handed him, he burst into tears again. “Wha’d you ‘spect ta see? You a broke down colored slave, just like the rest of us.” He then turned toward his wife and whispered, “Ya think we should tell ‘im? Ah mean, should we let ‘im come wid us?”
Bessie leaned in to comfort Ronald. “Look heah,” she said quietly. Can you keep a secret? Ah’s dead serious, boy. ‘Cause if’n you cain’t, you gawn be dead soon.”

“Yes, of course I can keep a secret. Can you help me?” Ronald pleaded through his tears.
“Listen now, and listen good, boy.” Bessie continued. “Tomorrah, after sunsets down, we’se some of us gonna get outta heah. They’s a lady what’s hep’n slaves ‘scape up nawth. It’s dangerous, but worth the worry. You wanna come wid us?”
“Please, please,” Ronald begged. “Take me with you.”
“Awright, you jes stay hidden heah until tomorrah when we come get ya. Tippy bring ya some food meantime. But remember, keep yo mouth shut and be still.”
“Yes, you can trust me. I promise I won’t be any trouble. I won’t make a sound. God bless you both.”
Tippy gave Ronald a blanket. As he curled up on the floor to wait for sleep to calm his mind from the horrifying experience of the day, he saw the whipping scars crisscrossing on Tippy’s back, from his neck to his backside. He pulled his knees up into a fetal position and cried again until finally succumbing to the power of sleep that blurred the day. At least for a while.
As the sun rose the following morning, it was the beginning of another typical day for Bessie, Tippy and the other slaves. Ronald remained in their shack, curled up in the corner, afraid to move or make a sound for fear of being detected. Tippy brought him some water, a piece of bread and some raw vegetables from the garden. Ronald cried from time to time, counting the minutes of what seemed to him as the longest day of his life. He watched the shadows move across the room as the sun set slowly. When it was finally below the horizon, Ronald’s heart began to beat faster.
“’Scape lady gonna be heah inna hour or two,” Bessie said. “You’d best be ready to move soon she says so.”
“I’m ready as soon as you say. I’m ready right now. I won’t give you any trouble.”
Everyone sat motionless in nervous anticipation as two hours passed slowly and quietly. Suddenly, they heard a rapping sound against the rear wall of the cabin. Then another, as if a small stone was thrown against it. Then quiet.
“Das it!” Bessie exclaimed. “Das da ‘scape lady signal to move. Now! Let’s go quick.” One by one four slaves snuck out of the window with Ronald close behind, around to the back of the cabin to rendezvous with their savior. They didn’t know her name. She was just known as ‘the ‘scape lady.’

For the next several hours, the ‘scape lady led the runaways through forests, skirting open fields, through fences and across streams for what seemed like days rather than hours. They relied on her experience, wisdom and the light of the moon to guide them to the promise of safety. As they crawled through a barbed wire fence, one of the barbs dug deeply into Ronald’s thigh, making it bleed profusely. He was about to cry out in pain, when he felt Tippy’s huge hand cover his mouth, stifling him. With tears streaming down his cheek, he nodded to Tippy that he was okay and that they could continue silently. Soon afterward, they came to the bank of a river some thirty yards across.
“Y’all know how ta swim, I hope,” their leader said. “We cross all da same time, side by side,” she instructed. They held hands in a straight line and entered the water. Ronald was at one end of the line. Halfway across the river, he slipped on a rock and went under, letting go of Tippy’s hand. “Where’d he go?” Tippy exclaimed. “He ain’t heah. He ain’t wid us no moh. He’s gone!”
The slaves stopped their crossing and searched for Ronald. They felt with their hands and feet; one man dove underwater in an attempt to see him. It was no use. Ronald had disappeared. “We gotta keep movin’ ahead,” the lady urged. “Mebbe he drifted downriver and drownded. We cain’t stop no longer, else they’s gonna find us. Fugget about ‘im; les go!” They eventually reached the North and their freedom. Ronald became a memory they spoke of for a while, then forgot.
****
Ronald emerged from the waters, gasping for air. “Quick Yaakov, this way. Hurry up,” the man beckoned, extending his hand. “They’re not far behind. We’ve got to move faster.” After reaching the far bank of the river safely, the two men ran for cover into the woods and stopped to catch their breath in a small clearing beneath the trees. The man removed a pack of cigarettes from a metal container he had hidden inside his jacket. The sun was setting and it was getting chilly. “Smoke?”
Ronald leaned against the tree, confused and shocked; thankful he hadn’t drowned. He was wearing a pea coat, woolen trousers, leather boots and a black cap with a small peak. His companion was similarly dressed. “Who is Yaakov,” he gasped, still trying to catch his breath. “Who are you and where the hell are we?”
“Come on Yaakov, this is no time for jokes. You must have bumped your head while we were crossing the river. It’s me, your brother, Herschel. Now snap out of it and get your ass ready to move

in another minute. Those Nazi bastards aren’t far behind.”