A Journal in Four Parts

Journal 1
I do not like the Master’s name for me even as I repeat so I do not forget. Friday. Friday. Friday. I do not know what the Master will do if I don’t answer to it. I owe a debt to this small, nervous man who carries his sticks of fire and his sword with him like an untried child on his own.
These clothes are uncomfortable and I cannot stop trying to loosen them, and I think of the food that Master made me leave behind in the sand to go to waste. Still he was not as horrified then as he was when he made me clean up what remained of a feast. It was easy work and I cleaned it up without complaint having done it before, once. I could not tell the Master that feast meant that times were good among that group.
The master’s language is strange though the words come easily to me and learning it seems to delight him. Even going to my tent does not stop the Master from talking even if I may not hear him. He is still trying to teach me to eat the flesh of other animals as well, and I eat the broth and tell him that I will never eat another human being even though the broth is bland. I fear that if I do not say it he will kill me as quickly as he killed the animals.

Journal 2
The Master’s God puzzles me. The master says that he is stronger than the devil and that he punishes the wicked, yet he did not destroy him. Why is this? The master told me that God does not destroy us either even though we are wicked. He was waiting for us to repent and be forgiven. He changed the topic before I could ask him why he lets the Devil tempt others into wickedness if he wants us all to repent for our sins. I believe that the Master can no more answer this question than I can.
The Master shows me all his things after he changes topic. He shows me the weapons and the place where his ship wrecked while he tells me about England. He is not the first white man who has ended up on our shores and I tell him this. The Master instantly questions me about the men. I told them that they were at my Nation.
I yearn to go back there. I may have grown to enjoy this man’s company, but this is not my home and he is not part of my people. He does not want me to leave and yet he wants the same things that I do.

Journal 3
I could not leave the man behind, and I do not entirely know why. I could have gone back to my Nation without him. I think that it is his way of life that has convinced me that he is a friend. God may still puzzle me and the clothes may still be a little bit hard to move in, but I prefer this to hunting and killing other people. A goat, after all, does not fight back when you kill it with a fire stick. My people will be able to grow without the dangers of catching and killing humans if this man can only convince them to.
I think that the Master is convinced that I only want to go back home with him to convert my people to his way of thinking. I want to help my people to better themselves, yes, but I don’t think that God will convince them to convert to my Master’s way of thinking. They’ll want his weapons and they’ll want to know how to prepare and grow food after I tell them that it means we can become the most powerful Nation. My Master does not know these things and I offer to kill myself and I tell him that I want my people to be good people but I do not tell him the truth.

Journal 4
We have rescued my father. I ask him about home and how he came to be in the hands of the captors. I did not think that I would ever see him again. My Master allows me to put him in the boat so that we can take him back to My Master’s home with the injured man that my Master calls a Spaniard.
My father’s rescue and the rescue of the injured man does not excite my Master nearly as much as the prospect of finding other survivors. Indeed, as I talk to my father he seems unusually happy and energetic. If nothing else, he is happy that it is not just him and I. It is as if he is gathering up people. I’m not sure what he is going to do when it comes time for him to go back home. Will we go with him? Will we stay?

Robinson Crusoe

My Bookshelves, which have no want of Polish, are heavy with Treasure from my Voyages. Empty Cans, their Coverings removed, their Ribbed steel skins rubbed with Polish by my own Hand. I do wish, and I once resolv'd to Discover such things, that they were Gold. I have a multitude of Rings there that I acquired through a prodigous deal of Pain from a Land know by the Natives as Mexico when I had but five Years. Also on the shelves Pictures of Jewelry of the rarest and most delightful kind and carefully pasted to Sheets of Cardboard and lifted upright; one of the good Spoons ofo sterling silver that my parents recieved from my Grandmother when they were wedded; silver that my Mother has made her dislike of plain and a small Collection of coin, each of which has been rubbed with Polish. All of which was I acquired only through Providence