The Hardest Thing to Know, Part 2

 This is the second part of my short story "The Hardest Thing to Know." I hope you enjoy it and please tell me what you think. 

The Field was bathed in heat by now. The Sun rained down heat. The soil exhaled heat. The bodies absorbed heat and heat bounced from body to body. All bodies in your rows before the Sun can make a shadow. The cane rose from the ground trying to touch the sky. We chopped it down. The leaves sometimes sliced Our skin and sweat seeped in to sting. Emerald sugar stalks stretched up from thick roots that hid biting insects and crafty reptiles each biting uniquely, but pain was pain.

Then, the songs began. Old songs that reminded Us of Home. So many tribes, but We learned each others’ songs. The stolen of her tribe were all dead now. She and her Man were the last. The white overseer wanted to stop the songs, but he was too impotent. Usually, his tribesmen tortured those who disobeyed. They were a monstrous tribe. Always screaming, yelling, fighting, violently. The white men whipped, and beat, and raped, and impaled and burned, and disfigured. But We were yet defiant. No one had been punished for songs, so the songs went on and so did the Day until there was Day no more.

In the shack, She fussed over another new cut across His back with water and cleansers and ointment. He let her. Then, he wrapped his heavy arms around her small waist and kissed Her deeply.  She held his chiseled face in her delicate hands that were rough on the inside. In one motion, it seemed he had removed her dress and his own clothing. He removed the cloth from her head and unbraided her hair. He buried His head into Her hair and breathed in her essence. It revived His spirit. The darkness would conceal their affection from the evil of this place. Now they could love. But they had made provisions. They would bear no children here. Never.

We all want to believe. Need to believe that love can conquer all and endure all. However, the hardest thing to know is that is not always true. In some times and places, love is undesirable. It can make you weak, vulnerable. It can kill you.

The next morning, the Man and Woman dressed in their customary fashion. They were oblivious to the events that would change their very existence in a matter of hours. Before they were in the field long enough to sing, the Master summoned the Woman to his house. While she was grateful for the respite from the labor, the trek from the field to the mansion was laborious as well. She hiked over the hills of tall grass, along the beach, and finally, up the steps and around to the path that lead to the rear door. By now the dirt and sweat bound her once long loose plaits to her scalp under her head wrap.

She entered the rear door to find one of her tribeswomen in tears. The woman’s scarred, caramel face showed tear trails that reflected too much pain. She tried to embrace her but the woman only spoke words close to her ear. “If you fight, he’ll make it worse for you here.” When she backed away from the woman, she noticed fresh crimson growing on her dress. She shook her head in disbelief. “But she’s just given birth,” she thought in horror.

“MARIE-EE,” the master sang out. That’s the name the Woman was given, but she never answered to it. This place was not her home. She was frozen in place. He called again. She could hear his boot steps but they were not enough to thaw her from her place. Her arms were still outstretched from the embrace she’d given her bloodied tribeswoman. He was up on her now, he was breathing on her, but she still hadn’t blinked. She saw his hand as it struck her face. She blinked finally. Unthawed, but still very, very cold.

He screamed and gestured wildly, but his words were still foreign to her. However, she had been a woman her whole life and she knew how to read the intentions of men. He, like the other whites on the Place, were wondering why she and her Man had not made children. The Blacks knew why. It was obvious to Us. Now, he was making a crude comment about her husband’s sexual abilities. He grabbed her shoulders and looked deeply into her eyes. She’d never looked at her master up close. His skin was dewy from sweat. His blue eyes looked genuine in contrast to his dark brown hair. No facial hair. He was young, handsome, and terrible.

“Don’t you see Marie. You can live in safety. All you have to do is what you already do. I’ve seen you with the Negro. I can offer you more.” He paused for impact. Nothing.