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that soul, she can't find that body no more, she never go home."

"So he's walking around dead already," said Denmark. "All right then, why look for him?"

"Body rotting alive, that too slow. He do mischief." Gullah Joe grinned and held up a huge knife. "Better us get him out of here."

"How, by killing his body?"

"Kill?" Gullah Joe laughed. "We got to bring him body here, put she inside the circle. Soul go back in body, then he leave my house."

"Won't that make him stronger, to have body and soul together again?" asked Denmark. "You want him out wandering around, knowing what we got going here?"

"Maybe that happen if we put him whole body in the circle," said Gullah Joe, laughing.

"I thought you said - "

"We put in just him head," said Gullah Joe. "Then we all be safe. That soul got to go into that head. But he go in, he drop dead!"

Denmark laughed. "I got to see that." Then his face grew grim. "Course you know, you talking about killing a White man."

Gullah Joe rolled his eyes. "They plenty White man. You find him."
* * *

In the early evening, Margaret took a turn around the block. Hot as it was, she couldn't have hoped to get to sleep tonight if she hadn't taken some exercise. And the air, though at street level it was charged with the smell of fish and horse manure, was not as stale as the air inside the house. Alvin had assured her that most of the time smelly air was still just air and it did no harm to breathe it. Better the smell than the mold indoors. When he tried to tell her all the nasty living creatures that inhabited every house, no matter how clean or well-swept, Margaret had to make him stop. Some things were better not to know.

She was coming back down the long side of the house when she heard the sound of someone whimpering off in the garden. There was but one heartfire there, one she knew well - the slave called Fishy. But Margaret almost didn't recognize her, because her heartfire had been transformed. What was the difference? A tumult of emotions: rage at every insult done her, grief at all that she had lost. And deep down, where there had been nothing at all, now Margaret found it: Fishy's true name.

Njia-njiwa. The Way of the Dove. Or the Dove in the Path. It was hard for Margaret to understand, because the concept was a part of both. A dove seen in the midst of its flight in the sky, which also marks the path of life. It was a beautiful name, and in the place where her name was kept, there also was the love and praise of her family.

"Njia-njiwa," said Margaret aloud, trying to get her mouth and nose to form the strange syllables: N without a vowel, as a syllable by itself. Nnn-jee-yah. Nnn-jee-wah. She said it aloud again.

The whimpering stopped. Margaret stepped around a bush and there was Fishy - Njia-njiwa - cowering where the foundation of the house next door rose out of the earth. Fishy's eyes were wide with fright, but Margaret could also see that her hands were formed into claws, ready to fight.

"You stay away from me," said Fishy. It was a plea. It was a warning.

"You got your name back," said Margaret.

"How you know that? What you do to me? You a witchy woman?"

"No, no, I did nothing to you. I knew your name was lost. How did you get it back?"

"He cut me loose," said Fishy with a sob. "All of a sudden I feel myself go light. Down on a breeze. I can't even stand up. I know my name's flying only I can't call it home cause I don't know it. I thought I was going a-die. But it do come home and then it all come back to me." Fishy shuddered, then burst into tears.

Margaret didn't need an explanation. She saw it now in Fishy's memory. "Every vile thing that your master has done to you. Every insult by every White person. The happy life with your mama that got taken away. No wonder you wanted to kill somebody." Margaret stepped closer. "And yet you didn't. All that fire inside you, and all you did was come out into the garden and hide."

"When she find out I didn't do my work she going a-beat me," said Fishy. "She going a-beat me