“Open up,” the master said again.
He wouldn’t do it. The master pushed through his cheeks with the knife, slicing at his tongue while it was still hidden, which must have hurt worse. Finally Thomas gave up and spit out a tongue already made ragged and the master took all of it.
When they dragged him out by his arms, the stones making it harder, all Thomas could do was clench his eyes shut. I imagine he looked like that all the way down to the bottom.
Clyde was doing the same thing.
The first time they brought Lilly in we were sitting in the basement, playing with the checkers who we’d learned to be friends with. When you are here anything that does not bark or hurt you is a friend; the cold air we were underdressed for even, because it touched us softly. We looked up and I felt something inside me I knew must be love, because every old slave has fallen in love once and can warn about it so you know when it happens. “Never fall in love with a slave,” Abe said once. “Nothing will happen but the daily disintegration of your hope as you watch all the things you can’t do for her. If you need love to get by, fall in love with someone in the street so you will never see her hurt. You meet her in your head when you’re sleeping, and pretend she wants to be there.”
“He’s saying don’t fall in love,” Mark said.
“I might be saying that, but if you need love to get by…”
“We need a lot more to get by than we get and we still get by. Huh?”
She came down crying, and threw herself at our feet, as if she was going to ask for something, but what do you ask for. No, ask for things in your head when you’re sleeping and pretend they come. We learned these things fast, without teaching.
“Here’s a new one,” said the Master, looking down at her. “The farmer up the road died and his kids sold ‘em all cheap. She’s a frail thing, never woulda bought her if it ain’t so cheap.”
You learn to hold your tongue. Because why else, what do you get. But I saw her and felt what must be love, like ladybugs hatching in my stomach and running for light. Some would drink Novocain to drown them, but I wasn’t once like that.
When the Master left she looked up at us, the tears and snot blemishing her face and I loved her through them. I have never felt less myself, only more reasonable, more aware. I put down the checkers and sat down in front of her, taking her hands so she couldn’t hide herself with them.
“You will be happy here,” I said.
“There is no happiness anywhere for people like us. But at least there was familiarity.”
“There will be that again.”
“I don’t want to start that all over, the hurting together so we love each other, I hurt enough—”
“We will take care of you.”
She sniffled and hugged me and to think of it now it is one more dead weight of life, one more thing happening in the infinite rearrangement of objects and trying to keep your mouth somewhere it can breathe. But at that time it was different, like ash in a fireplace blown up out of the chimney. She smelled like magnolias. I met her in my head that night.
They kept us in a basement and put duct tape over the windows, so the see-through became a part of the wall that breaks easier. We never tried to break them; imagine if we did: Go where? And the dogs who are always listening and the men who are always waiting.
At night they’d give us one candle and when it burnt all the way down we’d have to wait until morning. But I grew to love voices, because you can see them in the dark.
Our beds were tucked with no space between them so they became one long bed, but we’d sleep with a chain cuffed around one ankle, and you couldn’t roll very far. It got sore sometimes when I was young; I’m older now, and my ankle feels fine. All night watching the mobiles spin, for we were like children then, and most of us still are. We were easily mesmerized and loved them for putting these things in the ceiling
He wouldn’t do it. The master pushed through his cheeks with the knife, slicing at his tongue while it was still hidden, which must have hurt worse. Finally Thomas gave up and spit out a tongue already made ragged and the master took all of it.
When they dragged him out by his arms, the stones making it harder, all Thomas could do was clench his eyes shut. I imagine he looked like that all the way down to the bottom.
Clyde was doing the same thing.
The first time they brought Lilly in we were sitting in the basement, playing with the checkers who we’d learned to be friends with. When you are here anything that does not bark or hurt you is a friend; the cold air we were underdressed for even, because it touched us softly. We looked up and I felt something inside me I knew must be love, because every old slave has fallen in love once and can warn about it so you know when it happens. “Never fall in love with a slave,” Abe said once. “Nothing will happen but the daily disintegration of your hope as you watch all the things you can’t do for her. If you need love to get by, fall in love with someone in the street so you will never see her hurt. You meet her in your head when you’re sleeping, and pretend she wants to be there.”
“He’s saying don’t fall in love,” Mark said.
“I might be saying that, but if you need love to get by…”
“We need a lot more to get by than we get and we still get by. Huh?”
She came down crying, and threw herself at our feet, as if she was going to ask for something, but what do you ask for. No, ask for things in your head when you’re sleeping and pretend they come. We learned these things fast, without teaching.
“Here’s a new one,” said the Master, looking down at her. “The farmer up the road died and his kids sold ‘em all cheap. She’s a frail thing, never woulda bought her if it ain’t so cheap.”
You learn to hold your tongue. Because why else, what do you get. But I saw her and felt what must be love, like ladybugs hatching in my stomach and running for light. Some would drink Novocain to drown them, but I wasn’t once like that.
When the Master left she looked up at us, the tears and snot blemishing her face and I loved her through them. I have never felt less myself, only more reasonable, more aware. I put down the checkers and sat down in front of her, taking her hands so she couldn’t hide herself with them.
“You will be happy here,” I said.
“There is no happiness anywhere for people like us. But at least there was familiarity.”
“There will be that again.”
“I don’t want to start that all over, the hurting together so we love each other, I hurt enough—”
“We will take care of you.”
She sniffled and hugged me and to think of it now it is one more dead weight of life, one more thing happening in the infinite rearrangement of objects and trying to keep your mouth somewhere it can breathe. But at that time it was different, like ash in a fireplace blown up out of the chimney. She smelled like magnolias. I met her in my head that night.
They kept us in a basement and put duct tape over the windows, so the see-through became a part of the wall that breaks easier. We never tried to break them; imagine if we did: Go where? And the dogs who are always listening and the men who are always waiting.
At night they’d give us one candle and when it burnt all the way down we’d have to wait until morning. But I grew to love voices, because you can see them in the dark.
Our beds were tucked with no space between them so they became one long bed, but we’d sleep with a chain cuffed around one ankle, and you couldn’t roll very far. It got sore sometimes when I was young; I’m older now, and my ankle feels fine. All night watching the mobiles spin, for we were like children then, and most of us still are. We were easily mesmerized and loved them for putting these things in the ceiling
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