Spirit of Revenge

Beneath a moonless sky stood a shanty tin roofed shack, rigidly boards marked seasons of spring, summer, fall, and winter.  Grass refused to occupy the soil only mud and animal manure.  A steamy August night in Louisiana seemed to magnify a climate of irritability.  The air was thick without movement.  Screams and voices could be heard coming from a dilapidated structure, “hold’em, me can’t mend’em if he keeps movin all over the place,” momma Tutu said in exasperation, as the women tried to pin the muscular shoulder against what was supposed to be a bed.  Blood soaked rags that once served as a shirt lay on the floor in a corner.  The lantern’s illumination held by Mae revealed angry open slashes across Rufus’s wide back; slick with sweat and blood.  The sight made her nauseous.   Turning her head from the open wounds she looked out the window into the gloom of night thinking to herself, “when’s it gonna be over, is this the life I have to look forward to; beatings for just talking bout freedom,” her thoughts quickly returned to Rufus’s loud groans of pain assaulting her ears.  The old root woman’s hands were as gentle as she could make them cleaning the dirt from the deep slashes down to where pink flesh peeked through.
“How many times me tell ya not to be saying things bout Lincoln’s plans round’em whip carrying crackers,” she said through gritted teeth as she seethed with anger.

“I hate’em...I hate’em all...beat me for having hope to live better,” he said between gasps and moans.  The salty tears that streaked his face became the conduit of hate; hate colored by rage that resided somewhere deep within him threatening to become air and spread among the others locked into an existence of servitude.

Methodically momma Tutu grounded the herbs between her teeth; thinking deeply about the young man’s words, feeling his deep-rooted anger.  She then spit the ground herbs into an old chipped cup then adding another ingredient mixing the two.  “Hold still Rufus this is gonna sting a little bit, but it’ll keep ya clean...so don’t no fever get in ya.”

“Momma Tutu...ya think we is gonna be free by that there thing they is talking bout from President Lincoln?”

 “Hush now...stupid gal.  Ain’t no paper gonna set you free and take away these white folks free labor,” Mae said in a resentful soft voice; as if afraid her words would escape outside.

 “Wasn’t talking to you… now was I,” the other woman shot back in defiance.

“Shut your holes you two,” barked a harsh voice coming from the doorway.  As they all looked up, towering in the door was Ed square jawed and big boned frame smelling of whiskey and cheap cigars.  Silence dominated the small shack.  “Ain’t gonna be no emancipation for you all, so...ya better shut your black holes for ya git some of what Rufus got… whipped that hide right good,” he laughed as Rufus trembled with rage.  The two women could feel the brewing anger as they kept him pended down.  Momma Tutu continued placing the herbs into the wounds ignoring the slave hand mocking them.      

“What’s that ya got there some more of that coon medicine, better brew up some more you all gonna be need’n it if ya keep thinking bout some emancipation gonna be setting loose free labor round these parts, ain’t never gonna happen.”
The intensity in the room began to thicken as the silence became deafening.  Momma Tutu’s breathing became deep and regimented as her body temperature began to rise in the already stiffening hot shack. 

“You really want to leave this room Mista...ain’t no cause to beat down the already beaten.” 

Ed froze at the woman’s words not sure how to respond.  Looking at her through the illumination of the oil lamp, she took on an un-natural look to him.  The black slick complexion and piercing eyes made him uncomfortable.  The others seemed to hold their breath waiting for the repercussion.  Ed pointed a finger at her half-laughing, “Ya know something...old niggra woman you lucky,” he said as he turned and left out of the shack.  Everybody let out a sigh of relief.

 “Why didn’t you just kill’em,” Rufus said in a harsh whisper, “I know you knowed something from where you came from...you is a fresh water African, ain’t no more like you.  You shoulda killed that cracker.” 

 “Jus hush, jus hush for you get us all whipped up good or even lynched, and throwed to the gators for talking like that,” Mae said.  Rufus seethed with anger as the spirit of revenge slowly rolled over him “I’m tired...I’m jus so tired,” he said turning his head to face the old healer.

 “I know you know how to make a man’s heart jus crush all up in his chest...I heard you done it before.”  Then suddenly as swift as sidewinder Momma Tutu’s hands grabbed the young man’s face startling Getty and Mae; never have they seen her move so fast.  Through clenched teeth, “don’t you ever talk bout things you know nothin bout boy... hear me, or I’ll snap ya like a twig.  None of ya...hear me.”

“Yes Ma’am,” they all responded in unison at once with an added touch of fear.  The old woman resumed dressing the remaining wounds becoming lost in her thoughts reflecting back to almost thirty years ago on another hot August night.  As the pages of time flipped pass the scene changed.

Down by the river trying to cool herself off one of the ranch hands staggered up, “wha’cha doing out here all by ya self girly...lookin for some company,” the man said leering at her as she attempted to back away.  You ain’t gone nowhere; not till ol Hank here gets some of that black stuff between them there legs...you is the only black tail I ain’t had yet,” he said with lust dripping from his mouth; his words slurred from the alcohol.  His staggered gait forced his prey back against the tree.  In fear, she trembled as the drunkard came closer.  She could smell the body odor mixed with sweat and the strong smell of whiskey.  Rotten teeth grinned at her,” please mister I ain’t trying to cause no trouble,” she pleaded as she watched him unbuckling his belt.

 “You damned right girly...just you be still an keep yer yap shut,” he said grabbing her pulling her to his stench filled mouth.   Twisting and turning her face away from him, he became rougher.
“Hold still damned ya.”  She struggled even more.  Tears rolling in streams down her cheeks, and then suddenly a large hand made contact with her face.  The open hand that struck her face seemed to echo through the night.  The sudden pain paralyzed her momentarily, and then another emotion quickly replaced her fear like a raging fire surging up through her sending her into an altered state of consciousness. She stopped struggling and became stern and ridged unmoving as the drunkard slave master’s field hand tried to wrestle her to the ground.  He found that he no longer possessed any power over her.  He froze for a minute, “what the hell is this,” he said steadying himself as she glared at him with eyes he’d never seen before,  suddenly he felt a strange and unusual sensation running through him as she just stared at him with the hatred of a hundred years coursing through her with her breathing becoming deeper.  Her mouth turned and twisted uttering words foreign and harsh.  The strange sensation turned to a throbbing and gripping pain that crept up through his legs; they trembled and shook, “what in god’s name is-“ Then his words were silenced as he dropped to the ground; mouth open with no words or sounds exiting it.  Bulging eyes spoke his pain as he grabbed for his privates.  “Please he managed to get out between the groans of pain.  It felt as though a fire had seared his entire genital area.  She just stood there unblinking unmoved by his pleads for help.  His words echoed of how he had taken what he wanted from the slave women; cruel and brutal dehumanizing them with no consequences for his actions. She thought of the heartless acts of cruelty against the women she loved.  She remembered the emptiness in their eyes.  “Heartless does as heartless is and you should be without one,” she thought over, and over in her mind watching the man now grabbing his chest convulsing in the dirt.  “Nobody can hear you now,” said a voice coming from her that did not belong to her, a spirit that had taken up residence in her.  She laughed a low guttural laugh at the dying man, then suddenly her own consciousness returned to her causing her to almost lose her balance; disoriented  and confused she looked down at the slump heap that death had claimed making him cold and rigid.  The man was still gripping his chest as fear gripped her again, only this time urging her to run as fast as she could.  When she finally came close to the old rundown shack, she was drenched in sweat and tears trailed beneath her chin.  The oldest of the young men standing outside seen her running.  Despite the darkness, his eyes were sharp as a hawk.  “What in hell is going on,” he said looking to see if she were being chased, but saw no one pursuing the girl.  An older woman came out, “Reese what is it?”

“Don’t rightfully know yet...looks like little momma.  As she came closer he could see the terror in her face and he began to run to meet her.  “What’s gotten into you?”
 Panting and crying her words were unintelligible.  By then the slaves had gathered around the frantic woman.  Babbling and making no sense one of the older women took her face between her hands calming her down where she could catch her breath. “What’s wrong child?”

 “I didn’t mean it...it just happened...he kept trying...he was trying,” then the tears started all over again as the young woman trembled.  “It was that Hank at it again...damned cracker,” Reese snapped spitting in disdain.

 “Where was ya at this time of night?  You can’t keep going down to the river...it ain’t safe wit them drunken slave hands around....girl I thought I done taught you better gal,” the older woman said in a vain attempt to calm her down,  “did he hurt ya any?”

 “No...I think he’s ...he’s dead,” she sobbed.  Silence fell heavily for a moment as questioning eyes looked at one another.  The terror that once belonged to little momma now belonged to everyone.  “Ooooh my lord child...they gonna kill us all dead.”

“It’s lynching time....”

 “Hush you all,” said a tall slender woman of her fifties.

“Reese you round up the men and go on down to the river see what’s going on,” she said in a hushed whisper as tension filled the hot humid night air sending streams of sweat to drench their cloths.

 No one spoke as their fear ate at them gnawing at their stomachs.  What would they find at the river?  What would the next day reveal?  Would it be the end of a rope or would it be something much more sinister and cruel?

Reaching the river the sight rushed into view; slumped over the ground.  The ashen grey remains stared off into the night; hand still clutching his chest with his belt buckle unfastened.  Just at his feet lay the empty whiskey bottle.  Everyone was speechless trying to ponder the events that led up to the man’s demise since the woman could give no clear details only hysterical sobbing.

 “Oh my sweet Jesus...”

“Hush up June boy...ain’t nothin sweet bout this here mess.”  The men moved closer to the corpse to get a closer look.  “What we spoosen to do bout dis...Huh?”

“Looks like his heart done gave out,” Reese said rubbing the stubble on his chin.

  “I say that ol cracker done got what he deserves look at him ...look at his pants all undone.  He was fixing to have his way with another one of our women...jus last month he gotta hold of Bessie… girl ain’t been right since...jus ruin’t.... I say good for the Sonuvabitch.”

“Shut your pie hole fool before somebody hears us.”

 “Ain’t nobody out here but us.”

“Both of ya shut it...now.  I can’t hear myself think,” Reese snapped.

 “If we weight him down good...”

“NO...we gotta make it look like an accident...like he was swimming to cool himself off and got caught by the current and drowned.  Just take his clothes off hang’em up on that branch.  June boy you keep an eye out...Billy help me get his clothes off.  Jiff you get a branch and dust away all these foot prints and everything, hear me boy everything and don’t leave nothing.”

 “Good lord he stinks...ol dirty bastard.”

“Stop ya yakking and just get’em undressed we gotta make it look like he drowned before anybody comes looking for’em.”

“Alright Reese,” the younger man grumbled resenting the authoritative control.  Within minutes, they had the body undressed and the cloths hung over the tree’s branch.  The silence of the night was almost as un-nerving as the incidents itself; as all manner of nocturnal creatures became silent, witnessing events unfold.

“That ol cracker done messed wit da wrong one.  They always said there was something different about little momma.   Gal got some kinda power we all ain’t never seen the likes of before...now it done come out...that ol cracker won’t be grabbing no more colored women,” Jiff said wiping the sweat from his brow.

I hope you have enjoyed Another reality a place for the 3rd eye to indulge
This was an excerpt from the Cultural-Sy series "To Resurrect and Avenge" Book 1 you can visit www.wix.com/soyinkaiyabo/chasochronicals  or  to watch the book trailer

http://astore.amazon.com/wwwicosochch-20

available at amazon.com