death, when the wagon stopped and the new master got out and pulled Always, on her back, to the ground. God … why ain’t you helpin them? Helpin me? What good is what you have let me do, if I can’t do nothin for nobody? But who can know Your reasons?
It was broad daylight, round bout leven or twelve o’clock. Hot! Hot! Mosquitos squitin, flys flyin, birds flyin and screamin. Always screamin, bein pulled by the feet, she could see into the thickets, through the bushes on the damp, gravelly ground to the stream that all of a sudden looked like it was made of cracked glass. She had been hungry and very thirsty and thought maybe he was going to get some water. But … no, now she felt the damp dirt stickin to her, the gravel diggin into her skin as he drug her across it. She smelled the dirt, the clay, indeed, it was in her nose, her mouth, her eyes. Tied arms bled. Tied arms could not fight. She could not understand what and why he had to do this, this way. Shehad been goin to wait to see how it all turned out before she would hate him, but now … she hated him now. The pimply rough skin, the broken ragged fingernails, his rough hands and ways, he had hidden at the Big House. The handsome face with glittery, small eyes the color of the sky, now was ugly, ugly and hateful. She hated him NOW!
Then the sound came. A laugh of happy madness, possession. He was laughin! Stretchin her legs open wide and lookin and laughin as he dug his fingers into the tender flesh. She was beautiful … and she was his, his slave, his body to do with as he liked, at any time, in any place, and none to say nay.
He took her. Like the savage he and his kind accused her of bein. The hot sun shone through the tree leaves into her face. She never blinked her eyes. I felt twisted, grieved, memory, pain … worse than death. See … I couldn’t help her. She looked through the leaves to the sky and wondered, between the pain,
why
she could not die.
When
could she die? Time trudged on slow, slow feet, til it was over.
When he was finished, spent, he moved off from her, lookin at her with smilin eyes, proud and satisfied. How can a man be satisfied with what he takes, somethin not given to him? I don’t know. He moved off from her, fixed himself up, then took handfuls of water and threw them between her legs. Jerked her up. Then, tried to kiss her! Kiss her! She struggled and he laughed. Then half-drug and carried her back to the wagon, left her in a heap.
They had both seen the puddle of blood under the wagon, and when he had her safely on the wagon, he stooped down and pulled at the bloody rag hangin there … what was left of my baby. He held it up to Always and said, seriously, “Was this that cute little nigga-gal, your sister?”
Always looked, the scream started and stopped in the same instant. There was no sound for this new pain added to so many others. Her heart just cried for this child she loved, silently. “Please Master, can we put her in the wagon? I’ll clean it up. I’ll bury her. That’s my sister.”
Doak held the bloody body bundle away from him, said, “Hell, you don’t know if that’s your sister nor not. Even live. Who knows what a slave does when they makin babies!?”
Always did cry a little sound then. Said, “Master, sir, that’s my sister. I knows it. Can I have her, please?”
Doak pulled straw and whatsomever together on the wagon bed and put the body on it. “You sure betta clean this wagon up, sure nuff, cause blood is hard to come out and it looks ugly. Wonder what your old Mistress is goin to say bout this slave bein gone and dyin.”
From her own bloody body and clothes, Always said, “I’ll clean it up good, Master.” Then he got in the wagon and finished them few miles home. Her new home.
Always bowed her head, and heaved them sobs inside her body that millions of people what was slaves to other human people have heaved down through all these centuries I feel in this huge space
It was broad daylight, round bout leven or twelve o’clock. Hot! Hot! Mosquitos squitin, flys flyin, birds flyin and screamin. Always screamin, bein pulled by the feet, she could see into the thickets, through the bushes on the damp, gravelly ground to the stream that all of a sudden looked like it was made of cracked glass. She had been hungry and very thirsty and thought maybe he was going to get some water. But … no, now she felt the damp dirt stickin to her, the gravel diggin into her skin as he drug her across it. She smelled the dirt, the clay, indeed, it was in her nose, her mouth, her eyes. Tied arms bled. Tied arms could not fight. She could not understand what and why he had to do this, this way. Shehad been goin to wait to see how it all turned out before she would hate him, but now … she hated him now. The pimply rough skin, the broken ragged fingernails, his rough hands and ways, he had hidden at the Big House. The handsome face with glittery, small eyes the color of the sky, now was ugly, ugly and hateful. She hated him NOW!
Then the sound came. A laugh of happy madness, possession. He was laughin! Stretchin her legs open wide and lookin and laughin as he dug his fingers into the tender flesh. She was beautiful … and she was his, his slave, his body to do with as he liked, at any time, in any place, and none to say nay.
He took her. Like the savage he and his kind accused her of bein. The hot sun shone through the tree leaves into her face. She never blinked her eyes. I felt twisted, grieved, memory, pain … worse than death. See … I couldn’t help her. She looked through the leaves to the sky and wondered, between the pain,
why
she could not die.
When
could she die? Time trudged on slow, slow feet, til it was over.
When he was finished, spent, he moved off from her, lookin at her with smilin eyes, proud and satisfied. How can a man be satisfied with what he takes, somethin not given to him? I don’t know. He moved off from her, fixed himself up, then took handfuls of water and threw them between her legs. Jerked her up. Then, tried to kiss her! Kiss her! She struggled and he laughed. Then half-drug and carried her back to the wagon, left her in a heap.
They had both seen the puddle of blood under the wagon, and when he had her safely on the wagon, he stooped down and pulled at the bloody rag hangin there … what was left of my baby. He held it up to Always and said, seriously, “Was this that cute little nigga-gal, your sister?”
Always looked, the scream started and stopped in the same instant. There was no sound for this new pain added to so many others. Her heart just cried for this child she loved, silently. “Please Master, can we put her in the wagon? I’ll clean it up. I’ll bury her. That’s my sister.”
Doak held the bloody body bundle away from him, said, “Hell, you don’t know if that’s your sister nor not. Even live. Who knows what a slave does when they makin babies!?”
Always did cry a little sound then. Said, “Master, sir, that’s my sister. I knows it. Can I have her, please?”
Doak pulled straw and whatsomever together on the wagon bed and put the body on it. “You sure betta clean this wagon up, sure nuff, cause blood is hard to come out and it looks ugly. Wonder what your old Mistress is goin to say bout this slave bein gone and dyin.”
From her own bloody body and clothes, Always said, “I’ll clean it up good, Master.” Then he got in the wagon and finished them few miles home. Her new home.
Always bowed her head, and heaved them sobs inside her body that millions of people what was slaves to other human people have heaved down through all these centuries I feel in this huge space
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