I ain't used to seein' a slave cry. I never even thought they could, I mean I know they're happier than those wage slaves in the north, they ain't have nothin' real to cry about. But even so, I feel a little bad. Somethin' must be pretty wrong for her to be unhappy. I treat her real well for the most part and Mary ain't here. I think of askin' her but at that same moment, my stomach growls, so then I don't feel too bad no more. Cecile should be cookin' not cryin'.
"Jus' get ta work, I don't want no whippin' for you."
I see Cecile glance at the new slave, lookin' to him for direction. This man is corruptin' my Cecile. Maybe he deserves the whippin'.
The slave turns to face me, and I take a horrified step back. He's like the night, the skin on his arms, the evil look in his eyes. And he's big, like the trunk of a tree, arms more muscular than daddy. I know he can kill me, even with that lousy hand.
"Cecile ain't gonna cook now."
His voice is the match to his body, rough and deep. Scary. I take anotha step back, though bein' discrete tryin' to make him think I ain't afraid.
"Why?"
I know it's stupid to say, and that I should use force or go call daddy. But I'm too scared to do anything else and am actually curious for the answer.
This time he turns to Cecile for direction and she gives a curt nod, squeezin' the slaves good hand with her own.
"My husban' die las' week."
I don't understand what she's talkin' about, Cecile don't have no husband. She ain't allowed.
"Husband?"
Cecile lets out a little squeak, turin' from my gaze. I turn to the new slave for an answer, but he don't look at me neither. My brain is still muddled, when I hear daddy's voice come nearer to the kitchen. My heart starts beatin' even faster. If they ain't cookin' when he gets in here, I'll get in trouble and they'll get in worse.
"Jus' start cookin' one of you, please. Daddy'll be here any second." I don't normally use no nice words for Cecile, but I feel the desperation in every bone in my body.
"Please."
The new slave stands up and starts to follow my direction, while Cecile still sits at the table, all upset.
"Jus' get ta work, I don't want no whippin' for you."
I see Cecile glance at the new slave, lookin' to him for direction. This man is corruptin' my Cecile. Maybe he deserves the whippin'.
The slave turns to face me, and I take a horrified step back. He's like the night, the skin on his arms, the evil look in his eyes. And he's big, like the trunk of a tree, arms more muscular than daddy. I know he can kill me, even with that lousy hand.
"Cecile ain't gonna cook now."
His voice is the match to his body, rough and deep. Scary. I take anotha step back, though bein' discrete tryin' to make him think I ain't afraid.
"Why?"
I know it's stupid to say, and that I should use force or go call daddy. But I'm too scared to do anything else and am actually curious for the answer.
This time he turns to Cecile for direction and she gives a curt nod, squeezin' the slaves good hand with her own.
"My husban' die las' week."
I don't understand what she's talkin' about, Cecile don't have no husband. She ain't allowed.
"Husband?"
Cecile lets out a little squeak, turin' from my gaze. I turn to the new slave for an answer, but he don't look at me neither. My brain is still muddled, when I hear daddy's voice come nearer to the kitchen. My heart starts beatin' even faster. If they ain't cookin' when he gets in here, I'll get in trouble and they'll get in worse.
"Jus' start cookin' one of you, please. Daddy'll be here any second." I don't normally use no nice words for Cecile, but I feel the desperation in every bone in my body.
"Please."
The new slave stands up and starts to follow my direction, while Cecile still sits at the table, all upset.
