The Shaman's Secret Read Online Free PDF Page A

evil.”
    â€œSlavery,” Rachel hissed.
    â€œNot slavery, bonded labor,” Cyril replied. “I make no apologies for it. But you must understand the difference. It is
legal
. Bonded laborers like these have built America. Some of my coolies built the great western railways. These men will be free when they have repaid their debts to us.”
    â€œWill that ever happen?” I asked.
    â€œIt is hard—their debts are high; the cost of their passage from China is huge.”
    I shuddered, recalling that ghastly hold where men like these had been chained.
    â€œI expect they’re the kind of debts that can never be paid off,” Rachel said.
    â€œYou’re so right. The way of business.” Baker tried to smile at Rachel, but she turned her face away and crouched down before a small boy chained to an older man.
    â€œThis is how it was,” Baker continued, “with me and my brother Cecil. We made a fortune from human flesh, among other things. But a new wind is blowing. Once my brother and I had ten warehouses like this—” He broke off, choking a little on the foul vapor in the shed, a handkerchief over his nose. “Please come outside. I do not feel so well in here … Please just give me a moment.”
    Wiping off a spot of sweat above his lips, Baker walked across to the overseer, a Chinaman with a curling rawhide whip. I saw their conversation in a kind of dumb show. I could see their movements, but not hear their voices. He was saying something to the man. The overseer seemed to be arguing. Baker raised his voice and for a moment I thought the overseer was about to hit him. Then he stepped back and, hanging his head, the overseer nodded. Whatever it was about, Mr. Baker had won his point.
    The air didn’t feel so fresh when we were out on the dock with the tang of salt tainted with blood. We stood outside the warehouse, not knowing what to say. I lookedat Mr. Baker and couldn’t understand how someone could be a human and inflict such misery on other humans.
    â€œHow could you? Children. Fathers. People. Just like you and me,” Rachel murmured finally.
    â€œYes.” Mr. Baker turned to her. “It has taken death to make me understand that.”
    â€œWhat do you mean?”
    â€œThese men, these Chinamen or Indians or negroes. When I started in business, I never saw them as humans. They were units. Of profit. Of gold. And later of beautiful things that I could collect and own and treasure. You see, I thought I was special. Only
I
would appreciate these lovely things. You must understand—I bought the finest art from all over the world. Such beauty in the hands of Cyril Baker, the son of an ordinary servant—” He came to a sudden stop.
    â€œYou’re heartless, Mr. Baker,” Rachel said. Her eyes were glowing with indignation, her face set. “You see these men as coolies, as not quite human. Well, I see
you
as a subhuman.”
    She turned her back on him and marched into the path of an oncoming dray, which had to swerve, the driver cursing her. “Come, Isaac. We want nothing to do with this man.”
    Isaac followed, the others in his footsteps. I found it hard to move. My mind was clouded. Some things were clearer, much clearer, but I couldn’t
act
. The others marched off.
    â€œKit.” Waldo turned round to me. “Come on.”
    I hesitated.
    â€œListen. I beg you, listen.” Cyril held his white-gloved hands up in the air. “Please, I’ve changed.”
    â€œI am listening,” I said.
    â€œWhat are you talking about, Kit?” Waldo strode back to me and tugged me by the arm. “Since when do you listen to anyone?”
    â€œPlease, Waldo. I want to hear Mr. Baker out.”
    My friends and father had stopped and were turning toward us. I saw alarm on Father’s face and remembered he hadn’t wanted to come here. He had wanted me back home, resting in