Antebellum (2 page)

And yet hope stood, standing slightly hunched over, on a large mound in front of the masses. Life shouted over the cries of the tormented. She told them to hold on, told them that their time was almost finished; that their sufferings were almost over.

The slaves breathed in Elizabeth's words, and ignited with the fires of Pentecost.

Elizabeth was exhausted. Spitting fire from her mouth to revive the damned was a job with a very short life expectancy. Yet she was the only one who could do it. The decades of whips and cotton and lost babies had dimmed the brightness in her eyes and replaced it with embers resting in her ribcage. Every so often,
when things fell to their worst, she would bring her people, under the darkness of night, to this clearing in the forest. It was here that she spat those embers over her children. It was here that she gave them back their will to live.

Elizabeth fought through her fatigue as she stepped down from the makeshift podium and made her way through the crowd until she found the two she'd been looking for. She grabbed them both by the hands and yanked them, tugging and pulling them through the throng, leading them back into the woods. The woman was still shouting, trying to push her despair out through the pores of her skin. The man was silent, but wanted the same, and found it hard to see through his tears.

They trusted Elizabeth completely, and allowed her to drag them through the brush until she saw fit to stop.

After they'd composed themselves, they realized they were at the riverbank. They calmed down enough to hear what their leader had to say.

“You two's been chosen by da Lawd! You two's been chosen! A man's comin,' y'hear? And when he get here, it mark da end! It mark freedom! But he gon' need you's two! He gon' need you, or we's all damned!”

“Wh...why us, 'Lizabeth?” The woman shook her head, full of doubt. “I'se nobody to be helpin' no savior...”

“You shut up now, Sarah! Dis here ain't your choice...be God's choice!”

“What me do?” the man said, his voice seasoned with the melodies of Africa.

“Roka, he gon' need you to show 'im how to be strong, and Sarah, he gon' need you to bring 'im back t'life. He gon' need you both, or he gon' die!”

Elizabeth bent down and reached into the darkness. She emerged
with a white towel and a white wooden staff, six feet long. She held it in front of Sarah's and Roka's faces.

“Dis be yo' sign, says da Lawd!” Elizabeth raised her voice, even though the two slaves were standing right in front of her. “Dis be yo' sign! When dese things come back to you, it be time! Y'hear me? It be time!”

She flung both her arms forward and threw both the cloth and the staff into the river. When she spoke again, her voice was almost a whisper.

“Lissen good, chirren...he gon' come, but he ain't gonna be ready. You gotta make 'im ready. You gotta, or he gon' die. He gon' die...”

Elizabeth fell into tears, and Roka grabbed her before she collapsed to the ground.

“You gotta make 'im ready...” she managed, speaking in a delirium now, while her head hung limp over Roka's arm. “You gots ta make 'im ready...”

Sarah, having found new strength from her mission, stood tall and walked over to the edge of the riverbank. She cupped some water in her hands, walked back over to Roka and Elizabeth, and poured it over Elizabeth's forehead.

“Don't worry yo'self no more, 'Lizabeth.” She spoke with an assurance that made Roka look up.

“We makes 'im ready. We makes 'im, or we's die tryin'.”

Roka bent down and picked up Elizabeth, carrying her full weight in his arms. He looked at Sarah, and she looked back at him, and they both made their way back through the brush to the other frenzied slaves.

PART ONE

1

“Yo, what's your name?”

I was staring at the back of a snoring stranger's head. Her weave fell disheveled against the pillow as her torso rose up and down. The hair was fake, but who cared? It was just another way of hiding. The makeup that was no doubt smeared on her face, the designer jeans and heels that lay on the ground, the sweet smelling perfume that coated the sheets—it was all fake, but I had bought into it anyway. I guess because deep down inside, I was fake, too. Everybody's got a hustle, right? My façade earned me money, and hers earned her my bed for the night.

I heard knuckles rap rhythmically against the door.
It must be eight,
I thought. The bedside clock verified my guess. I tried to jump out of bed, but the bricks in my head wouldn't allow me to. Instead, I moved slowly, with my hand against the wall to steady myself. A condom hung from me, but I was too dizzy to take it off.

The noise on the door stirred my guest. She moaned slightly and turned her head in my direction.

Her face was okay, from what I could tell. I'd seen better. I studied her long and hard and wondered why I'd brought her up here.

“Hey ma, you gotta get up,” I said.

My voice might as well have been the Liberty Bell. All at once she opened her eyes and realized where she was and who was
speaking. If there were bricks in her head, too, then they all shattered against one another as she hurtled from the bed.

Turned out she was naked under the sheets. All that smooth white satin was hiding an Amazon donkey booty. My mouth fell open as she galloped into the bathroom and slammed the door. I was surprised it didn't pull her to the ground.

“No wonder she got the key,” I said aloud as I made my way to the door and looked through the peephole. A petite little cutie stood outside with short dreads, wearing a tight-fitting T-shirt and jeans. I opened the door and smiled as best I could, considering the demolition going on in my temporal lobe. She spoke before I could greet her.

“The one with the butt, right?”

SaTia knew me too well. She's wasn't even swayed by the fact that I was standing in front of her Butterball naked. She sidestepped me and made her way into the room.

“At least take the condom off, Moe. That's just nasty. Is she gone yet?”

“Naw, she's in the bathroom.”

“Damn. I thought we agreed you'd have them out by eight? I don't get paid enough to deal with these crazy...”

“I know, I know. My bad. I slept late, aight? I just woke up.”

“Can you get her out before I start, please? And I swear to God, if she even thinks about coming at me wrong...”

“I'll get her out, aight? I promise. Just sit down and relax.”

There must have been an
Extreme Makeover
crew hidden in my bathroom. When the mystery girl came out, she looked nothing like the woman who had jumped from the bed a few minutes ago. Her makeup was on point, her hair was straight, and her skirt made her butt look even bigger. I couldn't figure out if it was the material or the fact that she wasn't wearing any panties.

She would definitely be in my next video.

“Hey, baby.” She spoke as if we'd been dating for two years. SaTia rolled her eyes and sat down on the couch. The makeup magician cocked her head to the side and quickly let her attitude show. She pointed to SaTia as if she was an ugly dress on the clearance rack at Old Navy.

“Ummm, who is that?”

I spoke up before SaTia could.

“That's my manager, sweetheart. Look, you fine as hell, but I got business to handle. Leave me ya number so I can hit you when I'm back in town. Oh, I almost forgot, you wanna be in my next video?”

She looked as if I had given her the key to paradise. I turned around just to make sure there wasn't a white man behind me with a check the size of a big-screen television.

“Oh my God...you want me in your video?”

“Yeah. Like I said, leave ya number. I'll hit you next week to let you know the details.”

She covered her mouth as she screamed, then jumped around like a sixth grader who discovered school was cancelled. It was all expected. I smiled my usual congratulations-you-should-be-proud smile as she walked up to me and held my hand palm up. With the other hand, she pulled a pen from her bra.

“You make sure you don't lose this, daddy.”

She finished writing her number on my palm and put the pen back in her bra. Then, without warning, she put my hand under her skirt. It felt like an undercooked cinnamon roll with too much icing.

“You got all this waiting for you when you come back,” she whispered. “I don't care how long it takes, Nigga, I ain't letting nobody near it till you beat it up again. This right here will always be your pussy.”

She was bold; I had to give her that. If SaTia hadn't been in the
room, her words and action would've been enough to convince me to throw her back on the bed. Instead, I played a makeshift guitar with my pointer and index fingers as I responded.

“I'll keep that in mind, ma. Matter a' fact, keep ya phone by you this afternoon. I may get lonely.”

I don't know if she heard me over her moaning. I took my hand back and she kept going like it was still there.

“Uh...oooo...why'd you stop, daddy?”

I looked over at SaTia. She looked back at me like I was driving the wrong way on a one-way street.

“Business,” I said as I turned around and sat down beside my manager.

The woman seemed confused for a second, but when she looked over and saw SaTia's smug face, she got the picture. She shot one last I-will-rip-out-your-windpipe look at SaTia and then made her way toward the door.

“Don't forget to call me, baby. I promise, you won't regret it.”

And she walked out the door.

SaTia sighed with relief. You never knew how the groupies would react to her in the morning. Even though she had beaten down her share of anonymous females, I could tell she was glad that this one was relatively calm.

“You really know how to pick 'em,” she said as she reached for her computer bag.

“What? She had a phat butt! Come on, you know I can't be held responsible...”

“Yeah, right. You do have a light schedule today. You gonna call her back?”

“Sure, why not? I don't even remember what happened last night. With a booty like that, I gotta have a memory to tell the crew about.”

SaTia set the laptop on her thighs and powered it up. “Well, good luck trying to reach her.”

“What do you mean? She left her name and number right here...”

I lifted up my palm and saw a piece of abstract art. SaTia tried to stifle her chuckles.

“She wrote her number on the same hand that you just put in her cookie jar,” she said, and giggled. “Man, those must have been some soggy Oreos.”

I jumped up and sprinted toward the door. SaTia gave in to her laughter. I forgot I was naked as I threw open the door. The same maid who had delivered my
Washington Post
for the last three mornings was standing in the hall like clockwork. You would've thought my penis kicked her in the stomach. She threw her hands up, screamed and crashed into the wall.

I jumped back inside the room and slammed the door behind me. SaTia had set her laptop to the side and was now on the floor howling and smacking the soft carpet with her hand.

I came back to the couch and smiled sheepishly. Maybe this wouldn't be a story for the crew after all.

My audience of one composed herself as best she could. She made her way back up to the couch and wiped the tears from her eyes.

“Go wash your hands and put some clothes on, please.”

Defeated, with my head still throbbing, I did as I was told.

Twenty minutes later I came back to the couch adorned in an overly stylish outfit for a Wednesday morning. I was trying to make up for the embarrassment from less than an hour ago.
Superficial as it was, it helped knowing I looked fly. If SaTia noticed, she didn't let on. She drummed away on her laptop as if it was some sort of musical instrument. When she finished her symphony, she turned her attention toward me.

“Like I said earlier, you've got a light day today. Mr. Rose is in the city on business, and he wants to do breakfast.”