The Audacity of Patience Levi

By Billie Bierer

Smashing review from Western Writer's of America and The Buffalo Soldier's Museum, requested by Spike Lee, The Audacity of Patience Levi is the story of a young woman who must become a Buffalo Soldier in order to survive. Loosely based on the true story of Cathy Williams a black women who served in Company A, 38th U.S. Infantry. Follow Patience through untamed lands toward her ultimate destiny.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Billie Bierer
• Release date: Oct 13, 2012
• ISBN: 9780984983315

Book preview

CHAPTER ONE

Patience fingered leathery bits of leaf, smooth and brown, crunchy and dead. Her fingers glided through lacy ferns, moisture dampening her hands as she walked, making her smile. She blinked up into the half-naked tree safe in the knowledge that next spring the dead leaf she held would have been replaced by another and another each in the succession of seasons.

Patience continued her habit of lying beneath oak trees on grassy turfs, and staring up through lacy sun streaked leaves to dream her perfect dreams.

She loved the changing seasons as she did her bodily seasons. All living creatures had seasons. Though she loved these trees and greenery, she continued to hunger for something different, something or some place that would change her life forever. She did not want to become stagnant; awaiting each new season like she always had beneath familiar trees because what that meant was that her life would be just like every other Black girls life in the town of Last Chance Georgia and surely there was more.

This day she’d come to a place by following an old rabbit trail. Followed pressed long grass, stooping low and twice crawling through the bramble, sticker bushes scrapping her skin and catching her shirt and shirt sleeves on thorns.

She knew the trail was made by rabbit because she’d found their little round turds where they’d stopped to rest. She’d fingered one. It was hard, yet soft and firm. The rabbit had passed not long ago and although she had no formal education she thought her deduction true. She saw the soft impressions where the rabbit’s two hind feet had rested and she’d placed her own two fingers into the indentions and thought about the rabbit.

The trail opened up close to a small stream and several large oak trees and here she felt content and safe. She’d once again found a space where no humans cared to venture. Her goal for coming here, or any secretive hideaway, was to dream.

Listening to the chirp of the cricket and the whirl of cicada she thought hard about the red clay soil of Georgia baking in this summer day heat. Thought about each burnish soil layer cooling in night dew and soon she was asleep and dreaming about a far off land, one where she didn’t recognize the landscape nor the animals that lived there.

She was at a circus and the living creatures were strange to her: rabbits with giant legs that made them look awkward and taller than herself. Giant turtles that dug in dry land. All these living creatures cared not that she had been abused. None cared that she wanted to change her life. They were of this barren land trying only to survive.

The animals jumped through fire lit hoops at her command. Rabbits with long ears flattened on round heads, turtles that sprung as if they had wings. She saw none. Silly clowns ran circles around the arena throwing bits of hard candy to the screaming children. Everyone cheered the animals but no one paid her no never mind.

She dropped her long whip and turned away from the strange creatures. The animals went on jumping through hoops and performing tricks as she walked away, none cared that she was leaving. She was not special. She was not necessary!

She found herself alone in darkness wandering in that strange land. Gloom settled on her along with her new awareness. The desire for a different life had been dreamt by others long before her and like them she would have to find her own way.

Patience knew that she must escape Last Chance Georgia or forever be bound by the old ways.

Within the protection of her dream she recalled all the small things that she had learned over the few years of her life; most notably: men were natural leaders but she could learn from them. In the depths of her dream she recalled every single thing that drew her attention day after ordinary day.

Men in Last Chance Georgia carried knives. Even the dirt poor had a knife. This habit, Patience supposed correctly, passed down by hunters and gatherers in that far away land often spoken of by her people, called Africa. This was the nature of her people. This skill could be in her nature, too.

Knives were the closest Patience had ever come to handling a weapon. Her uncles and neighbors let her have glinting blades during games of stick. She had liked the heft of the small weapons, the means to winning a simple game, made not so simple when one considered that the knife must stick within three inches of one’s foot. You’d best be good.

Patience’s small, knotty fist wrapped around the rough carved-wood handle, a handle was worn smooth from use, the blade cool and shiny. It was only natural that she would steal one.

Inside her dream, Patience smiled as she recalled the theft from the local Negro store while her mother shopped, on her once a month trip into town for staples.

She’d tucked her prize beneath the folds of her full flour-sack skirt, her heart beating hard against her bony chest, her hands cold with fear. Getting caught would mean a beating. Getting caught could mean jail and public ridicule. Still—this once she’d dared to do something for herself and was both surprised and delighted by the new feeling of power that had instantly leapt up inside her. She couldn’t speak of it, but she was proud of what she’d done.

She played stick with other Negro children in alleyways and in the woods, whenever and wherever they could hide the fact that they too, had knives. She became proficient at the game and could sling a blade so far that a kid could no longer stretch his legs to that spot. She was good.

She had a blade that she could fling as a warning, sticking between toes of those that dared to cheat her out of winnings. Soon, none of the bigger boys would play the game with her but she didn’t concern herself with that.

When men drank and gambled some supplemented what little they earned from bending to the will of the white man. She dared to play stick with the men … and more often than not, she won. It wasn’t long before they wouldn’t let her in their games. This thought made her smile.

She was willing to steal to get what she wanted. Would this fearlessness change her destiny? Could she somehow overcome what she was born to? She felt deep down in her soul that someday she would gain real freedom.

She spoke of her great longing for a different life to Grandmammy one night as they sat on the stoop looking out through lightening bug flashes into the darkness. It was bed time and Patience did not turn her head toward Grandmammy as she told her story but she felt her stare, felt her unwavering presence and was pleased that her comments drew no criticism from this woman of wisdom.

I heard tell of a girl winning some silly game. All them pitiful men mad as hell. The old woman’s chestnut face crinkled with her smile.

Patience heard her Grandmammy chuckle. She took this as encouragement.

Over the months Patience practiced with her knife. The blade, thin and fine and stuck tight inside a pearly white handle. The luster of that handle was what had drawn her eye. Because the knife came from shanty town, she supposed it wasn’t valuable, but this did nothing to diminish its value to her. The knife made her more than she had been.

Patience’s visits to her favorite hideaway beneath the old oak trees were significant and filled with purpose. She began pitching the knife into old newspaper pictures her Grandmammy could hoard.

She looked through them and kept the papers with pictures of faces she could aim for, all the while wondering if she could truly put a blade into a real person. When the vision of the big man called Luke who’d been the first to drag her from her bed wavered in front of her, a blood-boiling hatred bubbled up inside of her. Yes. I think I could kill him.

She secreted her new-found skill in her heart. She prized the feeling it gave her. She was a Negro girl proficient at a skill she was not supposed to be good at. Any bragging on her part would bring her more trouble than she could handle, knife or not.

During her fifteenth year her sorry life ended and a more hopeful life began.

Walking beside a small river on her way toward her hidden place, Patience found a discarded leather pouch with long straps on each end. She looked it over and picked up the softened leather then held it to her nose. Fish.

Someone had been carrying fish in the leather pouch. Patience eyed the river bank and the wooded area, stilling her breathing, but heard nothing until, Hey, nigger! Drop that pouch!

Patience whirled, dropping her find out of fear.

A tall lanky colored boy appeared from between a patch of tightly growing bamboo. Well, now—maybe I’m lucky anyhow. Ain’t got no fish, he said with a wicked smile holding out his empty stringer, he dropped it on the ground. Close now, his hand shooting out he grabbed her arm. She squealed in surprise at his quickness, then struggled to shake loose, Looks like I caught me some prime pussy. Hey, girl? he leered.

His fingers pinched her arm. Patience found her knife with her free hand and lashed out with the blade, slashing the boy’s arm. A move equally quick, it took a second for pain to register in the boy’s large, dark eyes. He glanced down at his extended arm and watched as blood bubbled up and dripped onto the red clay soil.

Shit and damn! You bitch! You cut me! I’m bleedin’, he hissed. He pushed her away and stared hard at her. I ought to—

I’ll kill you, she warned, but stepped back a step, then spread her feet to square her stance.

Naw. He shook his head. He glared at her. I’m walkin’ outa here. You ain’t worth shit.

She lunged at him and he jumped away, then turned around and gave her his back. You ain’t got it in you to run me through if I ain’t lookin’ at you. I’m leavin’ here all right. He looked back at her. You best watch yourself though. I’ll get you some time, sure enough.

I’ll show you who’s worth shit, she thought to herself as she watched the boy move off through the woods toward shanty town. She stood there, knowing he was right about her. She would not attack him if he turned away. She was not a born killer. She was not evil.

She stood like a statue, the knife in her shaking hand. The blade wet with the boy’s red blood and pointed toward the ground, she raised it and stared at it. She was amazed at how fast she’d acted but now she was worried. She was not a killer but surely she would have to act like a killer if this boy attacked her again. She would have to kill him. She would have to, but she wasn’t sure that she could.

But then, her courage weakened again. She had a hard time stepping on a bug, even a roach because she was always thinking and putting herself in their place and size. A human being had the power of choice. Yes, she had protected herself, but her attacker had turned tail on her and in so doing, he had caused her to lose faith in herself. He had known that giving her his back would shake her confidence.

Patience had to know what she was capable of. She had to be able to do what she must to survive if she was ever truly going to be free she had faith in herself.

The sounds of Nature came slowly back to her ears and she stilled her racing heart. Her rapid breathing subsided and her empty hand went to her chest. She squinted down through bright sunlight at the once shiny blade.

Eyes narrowing, her glance slid toward the path where the boy had disappeared and she sighed. Blinking, she picked up the discarded fish pouch and tied the straps around her waist beneath her loose skirt. The leather was cool against her naked skin. She would keep her knife there. It would be her secret.

Her knife would be with her always. She must have the courage to protect herself. No one else would ever defend her. No mother. No father. No one cared that she existed save for Grandmammy and Grandmammy was old. She shuddered as fear swept over her and made her heart skip a beat.

CHAPTER TWO

1875 unfolded as Patience’s most disappointing year. She was sixteen and her monthlies had begun. She was still tall and gangly. Her hazelnut skin and large. Her dark eyes were still her best feature. She had no bosom to speak of and was not round in the hips like most African women. There would never be offers of marriage with a body like hers. She was stick built and gangly.

Patience thought of more things than her appearance though. Her dreams were bigger than anyone she knew. She prayed for a different life, one in which everyone treated each other well and all granted respect to one another. Everyone told her she was crazy, everyone except her Grandmammy.

This is what Patience observed: Women who married or lived with a man, had children and their children worked for White men. Few were free. Those that were weren’t too damn free. None made enough money for a house. None owned their property. She would not accept what her people considered, their lot in life. Instead, she hungered for real freedom, for adventures beyond those that she imagined. But this seemed impossible and a persistent discontent settled in on her. Her Grandmammy warned her that this sort of thinking could lead to madness. So to keep her mind clear Grandmammy taught her A B C letters and soon she was reading the bible. But the bible was’t enough because the bible was history and Patience hungered only for a new future.

A powerful yearning for freedom crawled deeper beneath her brown skin and wormed its way into her soul. She began reading the newspapers and found this somewhat satisfying though, of course, the news was all about White people.

This practice eventually led to her learn more about her country and the world beyond Last Chance, Georgia. She realized how small her present day world was.

The printed page spoke about people moving west into the new land. The men that gathered to gamble in the alleyway talked of it while they threw dice. She overheard a man say he was going to follow The Great Wagon Road north. He said this was a trail that had been cut way back in the seventeen hundreds, said that Indians and White men, even Negro used it to move north and south. He allowed the trail was dangerous. There were looters and thieves. There was little reason needed for killing Negroes. He said the road started all the way up to what was known as a place called the Shenandoah Valley in Virginia.

Oh! What Patience would give to follow that trail and then find someone who knew the way west. Yes. Somewhere out there—there was more—and she wanted more. She just had no idea how to go about the getting of it. She would palm the knife hidden deep in her pocket—clench her teeth with quiet determination as fury swept through her over her lot in life.

Patience was employed as a wash girl in the town’s laundry just like her mother and almost every other Negro woman in Last Chance. Patience endured this job. She had to keep her hands busy while her mind filled with wild destinations and visions of kind people that she hoped someday to join.

Whenever Carlotee Levi caught her daughter gazing into space her favorite saying was, Your lucky to have this work, girl. You’re ugly. No man wants an ugly girl. You ain’t even got no cherry. Stop your daydreaming and get yourself back to work.

At the laundry each hour was spent washing and carrying clean clothing and sheets to the women in the other room who then took the filled baskets outside to hang. Along the way, Patience had to pass through a short hallway that held a window glass facing the outside. She would look through the single dirty window at the trees and the busy street. This practice let her know if the sun was shining or if rain threatened and in this small way kept her faith burning.

One evening she walked to the house where her Grandmother worked and stood a long while outside behind the trees watching the goings on about the house. The doctor’s house stood three stories. Each with its own covered porch. Three great columns, painted a gleaming white held up the heavy roof.

She wondered about the family who lived in such places. She would never know the answers to her questions. She was not envious of their rich possessions, she was only curious about what sort of lives the family lived. It seemed that this family lived free and did as they wished. She wondered if the same mean things that had happened to her happened to the women in this house. Her Grandmammy never talked of private things like that with her.

Patience had no desire to be locked within the walls of any mansion or any house, for that matter. Try as she might, she could not imagine the family inside, because she had nothing in her mind in which to frame a picture. Her kin had never lived in a place such as this one, except as hired help.

Patience had no will to labor as her Grandmammy had always done. It wasn’t that the people were White and that she was a person of color. But if she stayed in Georgia her only choice was to become a domestic or laundry worker

Patience wanted to be self-sufficient. She didn’t want to depend on no one else for her own survival and she held on to this belief as a baby would its mother’s teat; as if her life depended on it. She held hope dear in her heart.

Patience skirted the outside of the great