My Name's Not Friday Read Online Free PDF Page B

‘Oh my Lord! You as well! I thought you were too clever to believe it, but it seems like I was wrong.’ He sits up in the dust. ‘That other one, the last boy I took, do you know, he thought I was going to eat him for breakfast? He really did.’ He puts a finger to the rim of his bowler. ‘He actually asked if I had horns under this here hat. Can you believe that? Hah!’ He shakes his head in disbelief.
    ‘Do you mean Billy Fielding? Did you take Billy Fielding, same as you took me?’
    He lowers his voice as though the place is full of listening ears. ‘Now it don’t do to name names. That would be unprofessional.’ He points a finger at my eyes to threaten me, but then he smiles sweet as you like. ‘I’m no devil, Samuel. You can rest assured of that. I’m an honest-to-God businessman, a man of some means, and you …’ He takes off his bowler, placing it on the ground beside him, and I spot a folded ten-dollar bill tucked up inside the lining. He slaps a hand across the top of his head to smooth his hair. Finally he points a finger at me. ‘You’re gonna be my payday.’
    He lies back down and gathers the blanket across his shoulders, but then he sits up again and leans towards me. ‘I nearly forgot to tell you. Tomorrow is Friday. Now you better remember that day real good, cos from now on that’s gonna be your name.’ He smiles, expecting me to be pleased. ‘Friday. I like the sound of that.’ Then he calls out to me, like we’re standing across from one another in a busy street. ‘I say there, what’s your name, boy?’
    I won’t say it. I won’t even open my mouth.
    ‘I said, what’s your name, boy?’ He cocks his head to one side, waiting to hear me speak. ‘If I have to untie this ropeand come to you, you will be sorely sorry. Now, you tell me your name.’
    It don’t do to pick fights you can’t win. I learned that at the orphanage. So I lower my eyes and say it. ‘Friday.’
    ‘What did you say? I couldn’t hear you. I said, “What did you say?”’
    A little piece of me dies right then. I can feel it leave me as I raise my voice. ‘Friday. That’s my name.’
    There, I said it for him, clear as day – and I ain’t never felt so ashamed.
    *
    In the morning the man gives me different clothes. He says, ‘Here’s your Woolseys, put ’em on now.’
    The trousers and shirt are loose fitting, neither of ’em new except to me. They’re made from a cream-coloured cloth that is rougher than I’m used to.
    He hitches my rope to the saddle and lets me walk behind the mule, my hands tied out in front of me. People pass us on the road in wagons and the drivers take a look at us as the town comes into view. I don’t know what it’s called and I don’t ask. It wouldn’t mean much to me anyway. But this town’s bigger than any I’ve been in, and it’s busy. I can feel the life and soul of it as we reach the main thoroughfare where the shopkeepers sweep out the front of their shops and pull awnings over their windows with a rattle of the ironwork.
    There are groups of ladies wearing hooped skirts, who stand and chat on the sidewalk with clutch bags on their arms and fancy hats pinned to their heads. I catch snatches of their talk as we walk past, but they don’t notice me at all. They don’t even see me.
    We walk on along the main street. A marching band strikes up a tune and processes out from a side road to fall in behind us. We go past a building that has a banner up saying: ‘Enlist Here Today’. My man pulls the donkey to the side of the road to let the band pass, and I go where the donkey goes, I ain’t got a choice, and we stand by the sidewalk, watching the spectacle.
    The parade has old men in uniform, blowing on trombones. They’ve got boys on tin drums with grey caps on their heads, some with muskets pushed into their belts, and all the boys have wooden toy rifles slung from their shoulders.
    In the next few moments it seems like the whole town empties out onto