regret those words,
Amethyst Greer. Oh, yes...you will live to regret
them..."
Silently slipping out of the house, Tillie moved down
the darkening street as surreptitiously as her impressive
size would allow. Carrying her small, unlit lantern, she
would walk to the far end of town and turn into the
forest. From there she would reverse herself through the
wooded trail and retrace her steps until she proceeded
steadily in the opposite direction from which she had
appeared to be heading. She wanted no one to guess
where she was going. She had no desire to allow her prestige as a free woman of color to suffer as a result of
her actions tonight. Having finally reached the edge of
town, she ducked into the woods and continued on her
preplanned course.
Tillie was all too aware that as a special class of
Jamaican, her status depended on steadfast adherence to
all customs white in origin. Having been educated by her
white father, she, as well as the other mulattos on the
island, laid claim to the manner, dress and religion of the
white parent, but Mabella Swann had forged a lasting
influence on her proud daughter's life. Rearing her to
concede outwardly to social pressures, she had allowed
her daughter to adopt the white man's ways and religion
in public, while secretly indoctrinating her into the
religion of the Puckoo people. Dangerously, over the
years, Tillie had clung to the Puckoo beliefs and in times
of stress turned to their medicine man for aid. Also aware
that many of the plantation slaves despised the mulattos
for their distinction of class, she was fully cognizant of
the chance she took each time she joined the slave
gatherings for Puckoo rituals.
Through a chain of whispered messages, Tillie had
received word that the Puckoo people would meet that
night at the Conway plantation, and although she had not
attended a meeting of the cult in many months, she
moved steadily toward the meeting place with a deep
sense of purpose.
The darkness of evening had shrouded the worn trail
as Tillie arrived at the plantation, her clear, unmarked
brow covered with perspiration, her full breasts heaving
from the exertion of the strenuous pace she had
maintained for the past hour. Following the sound of
solemn, steady drumming, she arrived breathless at a
clearing where a huge fire burned, casting spirals of
brilliant light toward the sky while flickering shadows
played against the black faces surrounding it. A low, steady humming had already begun as the scantily
clothed bodies concentrated there began a slow, hypnotic
gyration in time with the gradually increasing tempo of
the drums. Lengthening orange and yellow flames
stretched up in long, increasingly greedy tongues to lick
the darkness overhead as Tillie followed a call more
ancient than time and slowly assumed a place in the
moving circle. Her body responding automatically to the
persistent drumming that seemed to dull her brain, she
moved steadily to the savage, hypnotic rhythm. The
momentum of the dancers grew gradually wilder, bodies
pumping and twisting with unrelenting fury, seeking to
hold and conquer the beat that heated their blood.
Inhaling and exhaling in gasping, choking coughs, they
instinctively followed the ritual of the dance, their short,
harsh barks growing increasingly louder until the
primitive chorus echoed in the surrounding darkness.
Accelerating violently, the drums began to throb in
thunderous fury, louder, louder, faster, faster, urging
the dancers to greater passion as they writhed and jerked
to its sensual rhythm, the short barks of breathing
gradually attaining a barbarous crescendo that shook the
small clearing with its intensity. And still the drums beat
on, throbbing, urging, pushing the entranced dancers to
the threshold of a sustained, ecstatic frenzy which
plummeted them sharply in increasing numbers to the
ground and insensibility, where they mumbled in
exhausted voices as their
Amethyst Greer. Oh, yes...you will live to regret
them..."
Silently slipping out of the house, Tillie moved down
the darkening street as surreptitiously as her impressive
size would allow. Carrying her small, unlit lantern, she
would walk to the far end of town and turn into the
forest. From there she would reverse herself through the
wooded trail and retrace her steps until she proceeded
steadily in the opposite direction from which she had
appeared to be heading. She wanted no one to guess
where she was going. She had no desire to allow her prestige as a free woman of color to suffer as a result of
her actions tonight. Having finally reached the edge of
town, she ducked into the woods and continued on her
preplanned course.
Tillie was all too aware that as a special class of
Jamaican, her status depended on steadfast adherence to
all customs white in origin. Having been educated by her
white father, she, as well as the other mulattos on the
island, laid claim to the manner, dress and religion of the
white parent, but Mabella Swann had forged a lasting
influence on her proud daughter's life. Rearing her to
concede outwardly to social pressures, she had allowed
her daughter to adopt the white man's ways and religion
in public, while secretly indoctrinating her into the
religion of the Puckoo people. Dangerously, over the
years, Tillie had clung to the Puckoo beliefs and in times
of stress turned to their medicine man for aid. Also aware
that many of the plantation slaves despised the mulattos
for their distinction of class, she was fully cognizant of
the chance she took each time she joined the slave
gatherings for Puckoo rituals.
Through a chain of whispered messages, Tillie had
received word that the Puckoo people would meet that
night at the Conway plantation, and although she had not
attended a meeting of the cult in many months, she
moved steadily toward the meeting place with a deep
sense of purpose.
The darkness of evening had shrouded the worn trail
as Tillie arrived at the plantation, her clear, unmarked
brow covered with perspiration, her full breasts heaving
from the exertion of the strenuous pace she had
maintained for the past hour. Following the sound of
solemn, steady drumming, she arrived breathless at a
clearing where a huge fire burned, casting spirals of
brilliant light toward the sky while flickering shadows
played against the black faces surrounding it. A low, steady humming had already begun as the scantily
clothed bodies concentrated there began a slow, hypnotic
gyration in time with the gradually increasing tempo of
the drums. Lengthening orange and yellow flames
stretched up in long, increasingly greedy tongues to lick
the darkness overhead as Tillie followed a call more
ancient than time and slowly assumed a place in the
moving circle. Her body responding automatically to the
persistent drumming that seemed to dull her brain, she
moved steadily to the savage, hypnotic rhythm. The
momentum of the dancers grew gradually wilder, bodies
pumping and twisting with unrelenting fury, seeking to
hold and conquer the beat that heated their blood.
Inhaling and exhaling in gasping, choking coughs, they
instinctively followed the ritual of the dance, their short,
harsh barks growing increasingly louder until the
primitive chorus echoed in the surrounding darkness.
Accelerating violently, the drums began to throb in
thunderous fury, louder, louder, faster, faster, urging
the dancers to greater passion as they writhed and jerked
to its sensual rhythm, the short barks of breathing
gradually attaining a barbarous crescendo that shook the
small clearing with its intensity. And still the drums beat
on, throbbing, urging, pushing the entranced dancers to
the threshold of a sustained, ecstatic frenzy which
plummeted them sharply in increasing numbers to the
ground and insensibility, where they mumbled in
exhausted voices as their
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