Diary Of A Plantation Slave Ch 02

Friday, August 9th, 1811

Daybreak comes and the Georgia sun spills into my cot. I wake up to a heavy ache in my pelvis and a poundin' in my head. I hardly get enough sleep as it is but this is one of the worst yet. I rub my eyes as the memory and pain of yesterday come rushin' back.

Every bone in my body aches and my pelvis is raw and red. First thing I do when I rise is brush my teeth, peel off my raggedy clothes and scrub every inch of me inside and out with a bar of soap and a bucket til I'm squeaky clean. Then I take some salve and rub it on my breasts, thighs and between my lady lips to keep them supple and soft.

I'm still relivin' Master's words and the thought of what I'mma do from here on when the smell of Khadijah's hashbrowns wafts from the kitchen. Khadijah's a house slave that's been with the Cryers for 5 years now. She's the best one here and everybody knows and respects her 'cause her food that good.

Her eyes cut to me when I walk into the kitchen, takin' in the feast laid out on the table. From hasbrowns to chitlins to boiled corn, there's somethin' for everybody. The flash of anger in her eyes reminds me that Master made her and Reesus clean up my mess yesterday.

"You's late," She says dryly, takin' the hashbrowns off the stove. Next to her, Darla, another young slave, snickers and starts strainin' them on a plate. If only they knew.

"I'm sorry for my mess yesterday, Khadijah. If I'd known you and Old Man Reesus would be responsible for it---"

"Save it." she snaps. "Not only you's left me to clean it up, but you just up and vanish the whole night. Who you think s'posed to handle your chores and make supper while you's gone? If you's gon' be selfish, least let folks 'round here know first." She clicks her tongue and Darla chimes in with an "Mm-hmm" that shuts down the conversation.

I go quiet, like I did with Old Man Reesus. The sting of her words hurts more than what Master put me through yesterday 'cause she's right. Someone always ends up doin' my work. After yesterday with Master a part of me is broken but Master's ominous words ring in my head.

"Your ol' Master may have taught you how to be a dumb whore. But you gon' be a good one with me...You keep at it, and y'er won't be worryin' bout none of the housework stuff here."

I shiver. I don't want that to be my life for however long I'm here. If I can get my chores done with these folks I might be too busy for Master to get me 'lone.

"I'm mighty sorry, Khadijah and Darla. I'll try not to let it happen again. I know I got a lot of catchin' up to do today. Is there anything on your plate ya'll need help with?"

That stuns them a bit. Darla sucks her teeth. "You woulda known what to do if you was here yesterday. Mistress and Master Cryer's havin' a banquet this evenin' and invitin' all they bougie friends. We gotta prepare supper and set the table. Slaves on the field s'posed to rest and bible study in the stables, and we s'posed to do the same after everything set,"

She pauses for a moment, "We need someone to help set up the table and lights. Then we need someone to serve the white folk and bring the leftovers back to crew so we can all eat good."

I nod eagerly, "I'll do it."

"But do you know HOW to do it," Khadijah cuts in. "Just don't volunteer for somethin' you don't got no business doin'. You gon' screw it up. Get Broderick and Albee to help you oil the lanterns and set up, they come back from their trip at 1."

"I'll do that. " I say. "For what it's worth, I've been accused of tryin' to poison people with my cookin', so it's probably for the best that I set the table anyway." Khadijah snorts and a small smile breaks from Darla's face.

This might go well after all.

*************************

At one o'clock I spot two fellas with dark glistenin' skin that look like brothers walkin' up the hill to the house, headin' for the stables. Each of 'em's got a bale of hay slung over a shoulder. One's a tall, stocky, broad-shouldered hulk, with skin like dark chocolate and a jawline that could cut glass. He's Jefferson-tall and wide at the center. The other one's still tall, but with skin like milk chocolate and softer features, a button nose, and batting eyelids. His jaw ain't as harsh, and when he smile, his teeth and eyes glow like an angel.

"Hey there," I greet them as I follow them into the stable, "You's Broderick and Albee?"

"Who's askin'?" The darker fella with bulging muscles straightens his cowboy hat. He looks like he's ready to square up if I say the wrong thing.

"Oh, j-just me, ya'll aint in no trouble," I say quickly, "I work in the house with Khadijah and Darla and 'em and they said---"

He breaks his stoic glare to share a look with Angel boy, and the two keel over with laughter. "We's just messin' with you. We take it you's new, ain't seen you 'round these fields before." I smile with them in relief.

He takes out his hand. "Broderick Bueford."

I shake Broderick's hand eagerly and turn to Angel boy who sheepishly sticks his hand out and beams that heavenly smile. "Albee Johnson."

"Nice to meet you, Broderick Bueford and Albee Johnson. I'm Mayella. Ya'll got last names?" I raise my brow. "And not the same ones 'neither, ya'll not related?"

"Are we that alike?" Albee waggles a brow playfully as he and Broderick strike an identical pose. I giggle.

"We all brothers and sisters some way or 'nother. But Albee and I ain't blood related. We made us our own names, y'know." Broderick smiles proud. "We's part of a generation tired of wearin' the Master's last name, shackled in body and spirit. Eventually, we gotta be our own selves and rise up."

"Hush now, Broderick, she ain't have to hear all that!" Albee shushes him. He looks at me and bites his lip, "Our bad. That's just how Broderick gets when he's excited, he just says stuff."

"Naw, I respect it. My Momma named me Mayella and that's the only part of me I feel is truly mine. My name's a part of me can't no one else take."

Broderick claps me on the back like I just made him a proud father, "See, Albee! Even the newcomers get it. We gon' be the ones to turn the tide on this slavery thing, I know it!"

Albee just shakes his head grinnin', "What you wanna ask us, Mayella?"

"Khadijah and Darla mentioned there's a supper tonight, and I could use a hand oilin' some lanterns and settin' up some tables. I was told ya'll the best people to know how to do that. Y'all able to help me out?"

"Well shoot, we ain't never put no trinkets together. Mistress Cryer barely lets us step foot in the house," Broderick laughs.

Albee quickly adds, "But we've oiled them lanterns before, right Broderick? We got fresh oil on our way back," He raises a jug that smell like a burny rug sittin' by the hay, "If you want, we can oil 'em up for you, and you can let us know how Khadijah wans them dishes put up."

"Thank you, but I want to learn too and not just push the work on you," I smile, "Can you show me how you oil the lanterns? And once I get Khadijah's go ahead, we can set the table together."

"That sounds mighty fine to us."

"Very." Albee holds his gaze a little longer on mine as he smiles. "So we'll catch you later? How 'bout 3pm?"

"I'd like that." Now both our eyes linger on each other.

The sound of hay slappin' the ground snaps us back as Broderick claps his hands together. "Well alrighty then, folks. Let's get this show on the road!"

*************************

Three o' clock comes and on the dot, Albee and Broderick swing by the house. We get to dustin' the curtains, wipin' down the tables, and arrangin' the silverware just like Mistress Cryer likes it-- forks on the left, knives on the right, and soup spoons sittin' pretty on the outer edge

While Khadijah's ham hock stew brewin', we find our groove and get to talkin' 'bout our past lives.

Broderick comes from a family of strong black field hands, or whom he calls, 'black farmers in bondage'. He's always been a big ol' boy, built like a lumberjack. While other children was learnin' how to crawl, Broderick was helpin' his Momma haul hay and whack weeds.

He say he got his Momma's heart and his Pops's look. One thing 'bout his Pops, he knew how to love his Momma right. That man adored his wife and taught Broderick everythin' there was to bein' a man.

Then on Broderick's sixteenth birthday, tragedy struck --- his Pops was shot dead. His slimy Master had been eyein' Broderick's Momma for awhile, and decided she was goin' to be his that day. His father tried to stop him and just like that he took a bullet between the eyes, right in front of Broderick and his Momma.

Nothin' was ever the same after. There wasn't a day where his Momma wasn't raped or beaten nearly from that day forward -- til the day she decided to return to her Maker.

Broderick was inconsolable. He acted out til he got sold off and at 21 when the Cryers took him in, he vowed that when he found his soulmate --who he did in the lovely Khadijah--he'd be the protector his Daddy never got to be and fight for their freedom.

Albee was just a couple months younger than Broderick but he had himself a teary tale too. He grew up an orphan, his ma dead after childbirth and his pa killed in a freak horse accident. He was sold down a pipeline of different masters, 'cause an orphaned slave is a slaver's favorite type of slave.

Each master was more brutal than the last. He never had a Momma or Papa to love, or a brother-sister to keep fightin' for, but he saw the other slaves as his kin.

He had a face so charmin' that the white Mistresses would linger their eyes on him a little too long. Say he was too pretty not to be in their bed. Out of jealousy, the masters would work and beat him, sometimes to near exhaustion, all 'cause he had the misfortune of being blessed with a pretty face. A face matched with a heart that was so warm and pure, I thought to myself.

He says it made him really think and look to find his will to keep going. But having witnessed the things he did-- male and female slave brethren bein' whipped and flayed like cattle at such tender young ages-- he didn't wanna fool himself with false hope.

Until he landed with the Cryers and met Broderick. They crossed paths and together bonded over their struggles for freedom.

I listen and take in what they sayin' as they continue swappin' stories.

Like me, Broderick and Albee done been slaves they whole lives. Yet it shocks me. Ain't it somethin' to see two black folk who been dealt a wicked hand in this life, with every right to be full of rage, still have faith in gettin' they long overdue freedom.

"So what 'bout you, Mayella? What's your story?" Albee asks, turning to me.

"Oh uh, I..." I think out loud. What is my story? What kind of life did I truly have 'fore comin' here?

"All I've known is me and my folks. My daddy was a white plantation owner who owned my Momma and I but loved us at the same time. When I was young, I didn't do much work out in the fields but my daddy was always tryna get me to read and write good. But when he died, his wife sold us off." I try to form my words but they chok back in my throat. As all the hurt from the past rushes into me, I almost knock the lantern over.

"Easy there, you almost got it." I feel Albee come to my aid and prop the lantern upright. He closes in behind me and flexes his hands over my hands to crank open the lantern.

"You gotta unscrew the fuel cap to get to the tank. Then you can remove the globe and add in your oil."

I watch as my hands fumble in his to remove the outer lid of the lantern. Just like he says, it makes a pop and I feel a warmth that ain't from the lantern rush to my cheeks as we pour the oil in together.

We share a look that means more than my gratitude.

Albee and I part as Broderick clears his throat with a smile.

"If you ask us, Mayella, love is the best thing that you can have to keep your drive. When you find it, hold onto it."

I blush deep but when I look in Albee's eyes there's a calm hope in them.

"I will." I say with a smile. "Thank y'all for doin' this. I couldna done it without you." I walk them out the door.

Albee just shrugs and says. "Don't thank us. It's what we s'posed to do for each other."

I feel a warmth rush to my cheek. I sure hope so. I want the kind of brother-love Broderick and Albee have, with Khadijah and Darla.

The warmth quickly vanishes when I hear a familiar voice come up behind me.

"Sure is."

Master Cryer comes around from the dinin' room and stalks behind me. I ain't even notice him 'cause of how close I'd been with Albee. But he notices.

His eyes narrow in slits. "Y'all better go on to do your other chores 'fore it gets late, boys. Albee." His emphasis on Albee's name makes me shudder. Albee quickly untangles his hand from mine.

"Yessuh." Albee bows his head and reluctantly he and Broderick make a beeline out the door. As quickly as our hands were intertwined, they unlock and Albee gives me a sorry look before I walk to close the door gently behind them.

I jolt as Master slams his hand on the tabletop we just put together.

"Didn't I tell you you was no good for that, nigger?" He sneers.

The pit of my stomach drops and I pray there is a way out of this. But there ain't.

"Please suh. Just let me-"

"You must think I'm stupid," He sneers. "You not foolin' me with those two buck niggers feelin' up on you, and I better not see them 'round you again. Just you remember where your place is here now." His finger creeps up my dress and I back into the door tryna put as much space between us as possible.

"Remember what your main chore is." He says hangin' his twisted game over my head. He's too close now and strokes my cheek with the back of his hand.

Then he pulls away and walks out the door.

It takes all of me not to fall to the floor and cry, but I pull myself together just 'nough 'fore he's gone. Then I wipe my tears, finish settin' up the table and head to my cot. To my surprise, I find a worn, black book with what's looks like half a bottle of ink, a quill, and a message. The handwritin' is a little crooked and somethin' like what a 3rd grader would write like, but it say this:

For whenever you want to tell your story, -Albee

*************************

The party is a hit. Everybody chillin', white children laughin' and spillin' things 'round the livin' room, and drunk white folk at the dining table fillin' their bellies and havin' a grand old time.

Khadijah cooks a mean one as always, braised hock sizzlin'. She and the others went back to their quarters once the white folks trickled in, so I made sure to sneak some of that good food for 'em so they can taste their glory.

Since I'm on servin' duty tonight, I'm the only slave left in the house. I see Master steal some glances at me while he's talkin' with some white folks but I tell myself to pay it no mind and look forward.

It gets to be that time to kick white folks out cause Mistress got that "thanks-but-yous-got-to-get-the-hell-up-out-my-house" white women smile that means they's tired of company.

"Alrighty, ya'll have a good night. We should do this more often. Take care now." she says with her big ol' pearly whites. She follows the last of the guests to the door. Priscilla and Wyatt Deremonte are two chatterboxes that can't seem to take a hint but Southern hospitality is a mother. When they finally gone, she shuts the door.

"Lord, that was a long evenin'." she says like she lifted a finger. "Nigra, go clean up everythin', till not a single crumb in my dining room. Gotta be so clean my babies can eat off the floor."

"Yes, Mistress." I say.

She saunters to her room with them swayin' Southern hips and stops dead next to Master, "You comin', Cain?"

"Yeah in a minute, Doris." he says. "Just wantin' to remind Mayella that she still got her main chores to do." He holds me in a deadpan stare while Mistress still there.

"Yessuh." I swallow.

She squints her eyes up at Master who's a full head taller than her and huffs. Whatever's on her mind she don't say. Her big red curls and fat ass jiggle with her out the room.

Then it's just Master and me.

*************************

I'm layin' on my back naked and pantin' after Master done had his way with me. It's dark out now and a cool draft comes through the window. Every part of me feels cold and used and broken. Only reason I ain't moved yet is 'cause Master says he's "comin' back and fixin' to dump a big one" on me from his big feast tonight.

'Lord,' I tell myself as the draft licks through my sore drippin' pussy, 'please let this nightmare end soon so I can go to bed.' Of all things I ain't never thought I'd be on my back waitin' for a white man to shit on me.

I hear the door creak as a familiar heel clacks in.

Except it ain't Master on the other end of the door. It's Mistress.

"You filthy slut!" She fumes, chargin' at me and throwin' everythin' in her reach. This 5'3 stout woman as red in the face as her locs of hair is peltin' me with her fists like we goin' toe to toe.

I jolt up in a panic. There's nowhere to run but I gotta be careful not to throw anything she sends my naked way. The picture frame on the dresser slices my finger a bit but nothin' she throws is enough to do any serious damage. I'm crouchin' and tryin' to thwart her as she's yellin' "Whore nigra, filthy nigra" at me when Master's voice booms from the door.

"That's enough, Doris! You stay away from her."

She whips her head fast, seething rage. "Stay away?! You let this nigra lay on your bed like a $2 whore and you tell me to stay away? You don't talk to me like that when you slingin' yo dick in every and anything with two legs!"

She waggles her fat polished finger at Master. "Ain't no man of mine is gonna trick in my face. You best get this trash box nigra out of my house 'fore I do it myself!"

Master just looks at her and laughs. A big, thunderous sickenin' laugh.

"Doris, Doris, Doris. You think you gon' stop me from doin' what I want? You think 'cause you

Mistress

you got some sorta say?"

He goes around the bed and takes a clump of my hair in his fist till I jerk over with a wince.

"This here MY land, MY House, MY Niggers. I am Master and I can do what I damn well please with these niggers. I try to be nice and do things in private but now it's gon' be in your face whether you like it or not, how 'bout that!"

He tosses me back on the bed and straddles me naked from the waist down, makin' sure his now bare ass is at a good angle over my face. I don't even see it comin'. A wet fart leaves his ass stingin' my nostrils with a rottin', sulfuric stench. Then the dark cave of his asshole starts to open wide, and the most enormous python of shit you ever seen starts to slither out of his cheeks and coil on my face.

It gets so big, I can't even see no more, I just feel it. Wet and steamy it slithers, 'round and 'round till my whole face is covered. Its muddy coat's as thick as my forearm and heavy like cement. My eyes are shut tight 'cause if I open 'em a steam of the hot thick shit gon' smother me, it just keeps goin'. The harder Master grunts, the heavier my face feels till I just feel like mouse prey with its neck coiled in rancid predator snake shit. The smell, the heat, the slickness, it all hits every inch of me at once.

It gets so quiet I start to think Mistress mighta left in shambles yet I know she's still there. The fact he's makin' her watch this lets me know Master's not just doin' this for his pleasure; he doin' it to make sure she knows who's really boss 'round here.

After what feels like minutes of bein' submerged in this reptilian turd the last of it squirts out of his asshole on my face with a curdled splat. I hear Master pant as he slides off the bed reveling in the sight of it. "You see, Doris? That right there's a nigger who knows her place. I suggest you know yours. Now If you'll excuse me, I'm headin' out."