400 Days of Oppression

XVI

I returned to my plow and the days and weeks crawled by slowly. Mistress Delia cut me no slack after my ordeal and any laziness on my part was followed by a whipping. On some days, I hoed the fields and planted grape seeds. On others, I picked grapes until the sun set and brought them to the winery by the basketload. Inevitably, I was returned to the plow.

My body grew stronger, leaner. A diet of carrots, squash, onions, peppers, okra, yams, tomatoes, leafy greens, corn, black-eyed peas, rice, potatoes, watermelon, grapefruit, apples, and grapes, lots and lots of grapes. Meat of any kind was a rare luxury and usually consisted of very small amounts of pork, chicken and beef from parts of the pig, cow, and chicken I’d never before considered edible. Brains, tongues, intestines, eyes, jawbones, and feet were not uncommon sights in the meager stews I was provided. I didn’t know if this nearly vegan diet and the repulsive scraps of meat I was given were yet another chapter in my education on the lives of African slaves or Kenyatta’s plan to reshape my thick curvaceous body into one more in line with the modern American female aesthetic. That is to say, skinny. I asked Mistress Delia about it and was surprised when she produced her own copy of the book that had become my bible. It was the first time I’d ever seen her with it. She left the room and returned with it under her arm. The entire time she was speaking, I stared at the book, wondering where she’d gotten it from, if Kenyatta was in the house somewhere, watching me, and had given her the book to read to me. I was so deep in thought that my eyes must have glazed over. Mistress Delia brought me back to attention with a hard slap with the back of her hand that reddened my cheek and made my eyes water.

“Pay attention!”

“Y-yes, Mistress,” I stammered, abruptly jarred from my fugue.

“Rice and vegetables were the primary staple of a slave’s diet in the South. Meat was a relative luxury and only provided in small portions consisting mainly of the scraps left over from the master’s table. These table scraps were the parts of the animal that were considered unfit to be eaten by the slave owners and their families. The legs, feet, jaw, eyes, brain, ribs, tongue, organs, skull, and intestines of butchered animals were given to slaves as a cheap form of nourishment. Better cuts were reserved for the master’s table. These undesirable portions were cooked with whatever herbs, spices, and vegetables were common to the area and could be easily scrounged up. Ingenious slaves transformed these animal scraps into palatable meals. Some of the dishes prepared by early slaves, such as pigs intestines (chitterlings) and chicken livers (gizzards) are now considered Southern delicacies.”

I nodded and never again complained about my meals. I was a slave and this crap was what slaves ate. I needed to be as ingenious as those early slaves and try to make something tasty out of these horrible scraps of meat, bone, and organs. I began preparing my own meals, experimenting with different herbs and spices until I was able to create recipes for almost every odd piece of animal flesh that was plopped in front of me. That helped make my servitude more bearable.

The police came to the farm once to inquire about the two men who’d assaulted me. Two officers showed up on our doorstep and Mistress Delia called me in from the field to talk with them. I had to take a moment to change my clothes. I was still wearing next to nothing. I joined the two detectives in the family room. There was a tall Asian man in a short-sleeved button down shirt and necktie and a short black guy who reminded me of Danny Glover minus five or six inches in height. They stood as I entered and introduced themselves. I forgot their names seconds after they’d left their lips.

“It seems both men who attacked you were brutally sexually assaulted by an unknown assailant. They have both decided to plead guilty to your attack in exchange for plea bargains. But you don’t know anything about that?”

“About what? Who attacked them? No, detective. I don’t know who did it. I was in the hospital recovering from the ass-kicking those two bastards gave me.”

“And you didn’t call a boyfriend, a family member, anyone?” the tall Asian detective said.

“No. You can check my phone records. I didn’t call anyone.”

“Oh, we will. And if we find anything, we’ll be back.”

“Detective? Did you ask them who did it? Did they give you a description?”

“We asked them, but they aren’t talking. Whoever the guy was who did this, he scared the shit out of them. They won’t say a thing.”

“What did he...what did their attacker do to them?” I said.

The Danny Glover look-alike spoke up.

“One won’t say anything except that he was partially circumcised and beaten half to death. The other was sodomized, first with a bottle that was shattered inside his rectum and then with the business end of a baseball bat. Fucked him up pretty bad. I don’t think his bowels will ever function right again. He’ll be in adult diapers for the rest of his life.”

They left, and I never saw either of them again. The two guys who assaulted me got five years each along with fines and probation. The consensus was they would be out in two with good behavior. I didn’t care. I had already gotten my justice. Kenyatta had seen to that.

I was picking grapes the day Mistress Delia walked up to me and announced my emancipation. I wouldn’t have believed her if I had not seen Kenyatta behind her in the distance, standing on the porch of the main house. He looked like a mirage to me. I had seen him so many times in my dreams and fantasies, it was hard to convince myself that he was real.

“You’re free, girl.”

“I-I’m what?” My mind could not comprehend the words coming out of Mistress Delia’s mouth. It was like she was speaking some foreign language. What did she mean, I was free? The words didn’t make sense.

“Your slavery is over. You’re free!”

Mistress Delia looked excited. I was still confused. I wanted to share her excitement. I felt like I should have been happy, but all I felt was deep fear and uncertainty. I no longer knew what freedom meant in this new life of mine. I didn’t know what this meant for Kenyatta and I. Was I done? Was I going back to live with Kenyatta? I had underwent only half of my four hundred days of oppression. It couldn’t be over, but there was Kenyatta, standing on the porch. I dropped my basket of grapes and ran to him, tripping, cutting my bare feet on rocks and branches, not caring, only wanting to be in his arms again. Tears flew from my eyes and splayed across my cheeks as I raced against the wind. I was sobbing and smiling and laughing. I felt like I was losing my mind. I was so happy. All of my fears and uncertainty left me for a while as I concentrated on Kenyatta, reaching him was my only thought. The world would make sense again, all my pain would be over, if I could just get to that porch, get back to Kenyatta.

Kenyatta smiled when I reached him. I was exhausted, breathing hard. He held out his arms and gathered me up like a bundle of leaves that might be blown away by the slightest breeze if not for his embrace.

“You’re coming home.”

My legs weakened. I collapsed into his arms, wept against his powerful chest. Kenyatta scooped me up effortlessly and carried me to his car.

The drive home was surreal. The world seemed so different to me now. Everything looked bigger, brighter, louder, faster than I remembered. It was overwhelming, frightening. I clung to Kenyatta’s arm, feeling safe against his thick bicep. I closed my eyes and focused on the sound of his breathing, the smell of his cologne, his sweat, his crisp, freshly dry-cleaned clothes. It had been almost two months since I’d been in a car. Not since my trip to and from the hospital. Now I was going home to be with my lover, my Master, my man.

That night, Kenyatta made us dinner. Grilled salmon and shrimp in a creole sauce. Angela was not there. All of her clothes were gone from the closet. No trace of her remained. I had showered, done my hair, even put on makeup for the first time in nearly a year. I was dressed in my old clothes. Everything felt normal again.

“I am so happy right now. It feels so good to be home.”

“I missed you,” Kenyatta replied, taking my tiny hand in his.

“I was so sad without you. I didn’t know what to do. I can’t believe it’s over.”

We sat at the kitchen table eating, holding hands, and smiling at each other. Kenyatta was still smiling at me when he pulled out the book.

“In 1865, following the end of the Civil War, United States President Abraham Lincoln came up with a plan to reconstruct the South. The Freedman’s Bureau was created to help thousands of former slaves make a smooth transition into society. The Bureau of Refugees, Freedmen, and Abandoned Lands was a type of early welfare agency providing food, shelter, and medical aid for blacks and whites in need after the Civil War. Its greatest success, however, was in the establishment of 3,000 black schools and the very first black colleges in America. An estimated 200,000 African Americans, who’d been previously denied education by law, were taught how to read and write.

“The Civil Rights Act of 1866 declared all African Americans U.S. citizens, contradicting the 1857 Supreme Court decision in the Dred Scott case which had declared no slave or descendant of a slave could be a U.S. citizen. In 1868, the 14^th Amendment was proposed, which declared all people born or naturalized in the U.S. to be citizens, required all states to respect the rights of U.S. citizens regardless of race, creed, or color, provided all citizens with equal protection under the law, and provide all citizens with due process of law. The 15^th Amendment was proposed in 1869. It prohibited any state from denying a citizen’s right to vote on account of race, color, or previous condition of servitude. The Civil Rights Act of 1875 was the last of the Civil Rights reforms instituted in the Reconstruction era. It guaranteed equal accommodations in public places such as hotels, railroads, theaters, etc. and prohibited courts from excluding African Americans as jurors. Northern soldiers were positioned in the South to enforce the Reconstruction laws and protect the rights of freed slaves as well as to protect them from attacks from Southern whites.”

My mouth was hanging open. I had never heard of any of this. If all this were true, then what happened? When did it all go wrong? America seemed to have gotten it right. They had done everything to make sure blacks would get equal rights, a good education, freedom from discrimination. What happened?

Kenyatta continued to read. I hung on every word, not feeling the same dread I normally felt when Kenyatta read from the book. What I felt was excitement, curiosity, and more than a little confusion. How come I didn’t know all of this?

“The lives of former slaves improved tremendously during Reconstruction. Many African Americans were overwhelmed with their new rights. They were now full citizens. They could vote, go to school, work for an honest wage, and even run for public office. Hiram Revels was the first African American to be elected to the Senate in Mississippi. African Americans were elected to public office in cities all over the country. There were black sheriffs, black mayors, and a black superintendent of education.”

Kenyatta abruptly closed the book, picked up his fork, and resumed his meal, leaving me hanging.

“But what happened? That can’t be it! What about Jim Crow?”

Kenyatta smiled, put down his fork, wiped his mouth with his napkin and took my hand again. He looked at me with eyes full of warmth, patience, and understanding. My soul fell into those eyes.

“Let’s not ruin the day. There’s plenty of time for all of that.”

And that’s when I knew my education in the black experience in America was not over. This was only a reprieve, the way the 14^th and 15^th Amendments had been a brief reprieve in the history of black Americans. I tried to enjoy the rest of my meal, but I couldn’t. My mind kept drifting back to the book, wondering how Jim Crow laws factored in to what Kenyatta had just read to me and how they were going to factor into our lives in, what I was sure would be, the very near future.