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    This Man Who Called Me Brother
    This Man Who Called Me Brother
    This Man Who Called Me Brother
    Ebook29 pages22 minutes

    This Man Who Called Me Brother

    By Stefon Mears

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    About this ebook

    The third largest sugar cane plantation in 19th century Brazil. Yerodin runs the kitchen for the Almeida family. A respected man, for a slave. A comfortable life, for an old man.

    Now a young man stands before Yerodin. Strong. His machete dripping blood. Hand extended. Offering freedom.

    But freedom at what price?

    "This Man Who Called Me Brother" -- a gripping, well-researched historical short story of slavery in Brazil, from the plantations to the great Quilombo Dos Palmares. From Stefon Mears, author of The Patreon Collection and The Patron Saint of Necromancers.

    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherThousand Faces Publishing
    Release dateApr 15, 2018
    ISBN9781386443100
    This Man Who Called Me Brother

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      Book preview

      This Man Who Called Me Brother - Stefon Mears

      This Man Who Called Me Brother

      This Man Who Called Me Brother

      Stefon Mears

      Thousand Faces Publishing

      Contents

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      About the Author

      Also by Stefon Mears

      I went to the well myself, and I did not come back.

      In those days I ran the kitchen for the Almeida family, as I had for many years. An important job in any household, but on so large a sugar cane plantation? On the plantation that Don José often said was the third largest in all Brazil?

      I confess, I did feel some pride in my role. I was even trusted to go to the markets on my own, which many in my position could not say.

      I had some measure of respect.

      It was pride that sent me to the well that hot, summer afternoon. The kitchen girls were taking too long choosing the dinner chicken out in the yard. There was farofa to grind, vegetables to wash and slice…

      I could have called to João, the head slave. He would have sent me help, and he would have chastised the girls for taking too long.

      But I told myself I did not need help. My back was not so bent as that yet, that I could not fetch water from a well. And while I was out there, I would chastise the girls myself.

      And so I stepped out into the summer day, heavy iron pot under one arm. I remember we had a break in the rain that day, and the sky was the rich deep blue of Ogum. A warrior’s sky. And Iansã gave us a strong, salty wind from off the sea.

      With thoughts of the Orixás

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