charged them each a dollar.
Later, she dated students from St. Augustine’s and Shaw, making their eyes wide with shock when she tackled them to the ground, or matter-of-factly removed her brassiere, earning for herself a reputation as a spirited and fun-loving evening companion. She did not ask them for money. They brought her fudge or flowers, or read to her from books of poetry. Occasionally, they paid for her visits with the local abortionist, clandestine trips across Shocco Creek where the large yellow woman with slanted eyes had been driven by popular disdain and suspicion.
The woman gave her bottles of death that brought about spasms of her womb, and caused it to eject whatever lay therein. She returned from these trips feeling empty and exhausted, overwhelmed by the enormity of the destruction she had wrought with the assistance of the yellow woman. She always vomited for days thereafter, sickened by thoughts of lost bloodlines and life and potential; and dreams of her own babies, transparent and barely human, rising from puddles on the floor of the yellow woman’s shack to scream at her in terror and indictment, making her cringe with pain and horror at her own evil.
So by the time anyone told her that she had been rendered impure by her countless lovers, it was too late for amends, and if there was a God who sat in righteousness and judgment, as she supposed there was, she felt herself far beyond his redemptive powers. She had chosen her god, and it was sex, powerful and bewitching and possessive.
Sometimes, on mornings like this one, bright and warm, she went to the creek where she had been baptized as a child, to swim naked or float among the lily pads, her arms spread out in front of her, her breasts half-submerged. Young boys would come sometimes to see if the naked lady was there, floating peaceful and still, her eyes closed and her head thrown back. Ordinarily, they were ignored. She had come for solitude and reflection, and she would not be disappointed.
Today, as usual, she hoped they would not come. She needed the quiet. Slowly, painfully, she unbuttoned her dress, letting it drop to the ground at the bank of the creek. Last night’s client had been rambunctious, leaving her fatigued this morning, longing for the quiet and peace. Her muscles ached from the contortions she had performed. She needed the water massaging her back and calves, the throbbing of her temples silenced by the calm.
The adolescent laughter interrupted her thoughts just as she had begun to relax. She tried, at first, to ignore them. But they began to throw pebbles that shattered the tranquil surface of the creek. She opened her eyes, annoyed but unwilling to indulge them in the satisfaction of knowing this. It was not until a small rock fell with a loud
kerplunk
just shy of her that she jumped to her feet. The water touched her chin as she spun around to see several boys of perhaps twelve years disappear into the shrubbery surrounding the creek.
“Who dat?” she screamed, her eyes wild, struggling to maintain her balance on the slippery floor of the creek. “Who dat out dere? Why don’tcha get yo’ scrawny black bee-hinds out here, you wanna get mannish wit’ me! I’ll snap yo’ skinny black necks! Come on!” She waded toward the edge of the water, her henna-dyed hair wild and dripping. Her challenge was answered with silence. “Come on, ya skeerdy-cats! Scared of a
woman
? Come
on
! Be a
man
! You so big and—”
He appeared suddenly, startling her into silence. His steps were tentative, and his head was bowed respectfully. She shrank into the water, his decorum making her aware of her nakedness. She could hear the shrieks and laughter of his fleeing companions. The boy licked his lips nervously, shifting a little, and uncertain.
“Ma’am,” he began, and looked away from her, embarrassed. “We sorry, Ma’am. We ain’ mean to d’sturb you.” He looked at her again, his eyes indeed disturbing. “We jes be
Later, she dated students from St. Augustine’s and Shaw, making their eyes wide with shock when she tackled them to the ground, or matter-of-factly removed her brassiere, earning for herself a reputation as a spirited and fun-loving evening companion. She did not ask them for money. They brought her fudge or flowers, or read to her from books of poetry. Occasionally, they paid for her visits with the local abortionist, clandestine trips across Shocco Creek where the large yellow woman with slanted eyes had been driven by popular disdain and suspicion.
The woman gave her bottles of death that brought about spasms of her womb, and caused it to eject whatever lay therein. She returned from these trips feeling empty and exhausted, overwhelmed by the enormity of the destruction she had wrought with the assistance of the yellow woman. She always vomited for days thereafter, sickened by thoughts of lost bloodlines and life and potential; and dreams of her own babies, transparent and barely human, rising from puddles on the floor of the yellow woman’s shack to scream at her in terror and indictment, making her cringe with pain and horror at her own evil.
So by the time anyone told her that she had been rendered impure by her countless lovers, it was too late for amends, and if there was a God who sat in righteousness and judgment, as she supposed there was, she felt herself far beyond his redemptive powers. She had chosen her god, and it was sex, powerful and bewitching and possessive.
Sometimes, on mornings like this one, bright and warm, she went to the creek where she had been baptized as a child, to swim naked or float among the lily pads, her arms spread out in front of her, her breasts half-submerged. Young boys would come sometimes to see if the naked lady was there, floating peaceful and still, her eyes closed and her head thrown back. Ordinarily, they were ignored. She had come for solitude and reflection, and she would not be disappointed.
Today, as usual, she hoped they would not come. She needed the quiet. Slowly, painfully, she unbuttoned her dress, letting it drop to the ground at the bank of the creek. Last night’s client had been rambunctious, leaving her fatigued this morning, longing for the quiet and peace. Her muscles ached from the contortions she had performed. She needed the water massaging her back and calves, the throbbing of her temples silenced by the calm.
The adolescent laughter interrupted her thoughts just as she had begun to relax. She tried, at first, to ignore them. But they began to throw pebbles that shattered the tranquil surface of the creek. She opened her eyes, annoyed but unwilling to indulge them in the satisfaction of knowing this. It was not until a small rock fell with a loud
kerplunk
just shy of her that she jumped to her feet. The water touched her chin as she spun around to see several boys of perhaps twelve years disappear into the shrubbery surrounding the creek.
“Who dat?” she screamed, her eyes wild, struggling to maintain her balance on the slippery floor of the creek. “Who dat out dere? Why don’tcha get yo’ scrawny black bee-hinds out here, you wanna get mannish wit’ me! I’ll snap yo’ skinny black necks! Come on!” She waded toward the edge of the water, her henna-dyed hair wild and dripping. Her challenge was answered with silence. “Come on, ya skeerdy-cats! Scared of a
woman
? Come
on
! Be a
man
! You so big and—”
He appeared suddenly, startling her into silence. His steps were tentative, and his head was bowed respectfully. She shrank into the water, his decorum making her aware of her nakedness. She could hear the shrieks and laughter of his fleeing companions. The boy licked his lips nervously, shifting a little, and uncertain.
“Ma’am,” he began, and looked away from her, embarrassed. “We sorry, Ma’am. We ain’ mean to d’sturb you.” He looked at her again, his eyes indeed disturbing. “We jes be
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