Fade To Black

 *Pictures of cast in order

Preface:

Life is like an old tree. They reveal themselves, like a crack in the wall, starting small then growing. I found other things as well. Like time. Time was something I never thought I could have. I thought if time could pass me by I’d be fine. Mama thought she could wash the kids faces, who’d lost their happiness. And Papa lost to many times at the races, betting money we ‘could have’ spent on slaves. It was all time. “Give me time boy!” He’d say. As if I didn’t leave him alone enough. It was bad to even think that I was in love with a negro girl, let alone my own slave. I loved her as a sister, as a lover and looked up to her like a god. She was infamous out in the cotton fields. She could pick the fastest with the cleanest cotton. Hardly any seeds. But she always bled. I could hear wailing at night from the house to theirs as they sowed up cuts and washed out gashes. I had first seen her in the summer of 1840. The heat was beating down on us. Georgia had been selling big numbers of slaves and sending them down here to Louisiana so we went down to the market to sell one of our older slaves, Ann, for a coffle. She could work twice as hard in the fields through day and night and was our best nanny. My little sisters Liza and Mary liked her and when they had found out she was to be sold they had had a fit. Sprawling out on the porch like fools while Mama scowled at Ann as she got in the back of the wagon. My mother hated Ann as a result of jealousy.

The air was thick and heavy with heat as we stood in the middle of a growing crowd. Crying black children were pulled away from their parents, husbands separated from wives and then re-shackled and sold. I was only twelve but it was a haunting sight. For human beings to own another seemed out of the question morally to me, but it was something I was taught to be proud of. Then I saw her, through the thick of the crowd on the wooden stage. Men spat at her, waving money in the air. Her skin was lighter than most of the negroes I had seen before. Her hair was curly and long. Thick black hair was something my sisters asked for Christmas every year, only to never find it on their heads on Christmas day. My father called them fools each year as they went and cried in their beds. Her skin glistened in the sun as tears rolled down her eyes. I had a sudden urge to wipe them from her face but I wouldn’t of even made it up there if I thought it was possible. My father’s hand instantly went up by the sight of her. She was the most beautiful negro I had ever seen. Her big lips, and dark brown eyes. Her red cheeks and small waist. She looked about my age and I almost felt like raising my hand but my father had strict rules about the market place. I must never raise my hand to buy a slave, only he chose. If I had a choice I would’ve just stayed home but when I saw her face I felt thankful that my Papa had decided to raise his hand. Throughout the roaring crowd I saw my father pull out dollars from his pocket. We had been very successful with our cotton and sugar plantation so we got some pretty good bucks every week. As men inspected her they started the bidding. The process always went by ability and health. The healthier and younger the slave, the more money. If it was a girl, sometimes more. A lot of the men up in here Louisiana rape the woman slaves though they don’t admit it whenever it’s brought up. Papa did it once. Said that when I was older I could have a chance but I ran away, sick and had thrown up my supper.

The bidding ended with my dad, sold to for four hundred dollars. She wailed off the stage. A sick part of me was happy that we had won the bid and bought her but felt bad I would have to watch her work to the bone. Daddy never believed in school so Mama taught us sometimes, but most of the time I was made to sit on the back porch, watching them negroes slave away. Sometimes I cried and daddy would notice but I pretended I was just sweating. I stared at her the whole trip home, turning away whenever her gaze met mine. She stared at me with lethal eyes. If looks could kill I would’ve died right there n’ then. We reached the house as my sisters ran out off the porch approaching us. My father violently pulled the chains that were connected from her feet to her hands, which made her fall off the wagon. I hesitated to give her my hand to get up but my dad would’ve brought his belt to teach me another ‘lesson’. As he pushed her away my sisters tugged at her torn dress and long curly hair. She cried silently as my dad threatened her. Because she was young she would be filling in Ann’s place as the nanny and that I would be able to see her everyday. She also wasn’t as dark as the other slaves so the lighter negroes always stayed inside. She was the only one now. She would eventually become very lonely and maybe, in secret, I could talk to her.

“ Papa when we gone and go to Bon Temps to catch some gator?” I asked. Ann always liked to go down to the bayou. She would teach us kids songs she learned from the Louisiana plantations she had been sold to while Papa caught gators and Mama picked wild berries. Maybe the new girl would. My father ignored my question and had told us that the new slave was to sleep in Ann’s old room and that she was now fully aware of the house rules. The rest of the day was spent sitting on the porch, rocking on the rocking chair as I smelled the cornbread and suet pudding cooking. The new girl must’ve been cooking. It smelled so good!

My father had resigned from the porch and had asked me to tell the slaves they could resign as well. He must’ve been feeling mighty generous to let them go to sleep this early I thought. I walked down to the dirt road in between each field and told each slave individually that they could go and rest. Sometimes I would sneak a couple of sweets and ask if they would like any. The slaves were my friends and always called me a ‘heavenly boy’. As they headed in I handed out bits of parchment to cover their wounds as they dipped their hands in the pale of water I brought with me too. I snuck out sometimes on Sunday evenings to hear their songs that they use to sing. I even brought them some catfish as a treat. When they had gathered into their houses and I was invited into each one, I shared the news of the new girl. I explained how I thought the girl was just pretty n’ all as Big Mama Benny swore I was swooning. After a quick talk I said good night as I walked back to the house. I was surprised to see them lights on the house so I went through the front door to find the new girl working hard on the dishes. The table had been set for supper and bowls and plates had been eaten out of. I felt rude all of sudden. I had missed supper and I must’ve seemed rude coming in this late. She scrubbed hard on them plates in the pale of water. She even separated the waste to give to the pigs just like daddy always says. I froze behind her, thinking bout’ what I was going to do next. Nobody was down here so I decided to help with the dishes.

In a rush I pulled the plate from her hands and lightly pushed her off the stool. She was surprised at my presence as I began scrubbing at the plate,

“ Um. Master you know you doing the dishes?” She asked timidly. She must be frightened right now.

“ Yeah, I know. Call me Jackson. Jackson Sawyer.” I gave her my best smile and put out my hand. She stared at it like it was a weapon then grabbed it and shook it. Pulling away quickly afterwards.

“ I should really be doing this Jackson. I was bought for this. I gotta give the master the benefit of the doubt ya’ know?” She reached for the cloth and plate in my hand but I teased her and moved them on the other side of my body, out of her reach. “ I ain’t playin’ Jackson!” She then stopped abruptly as if she had been speaking a different tongue. She had probably never spoken friendly to a white man before. I was happy to say I might’ve been her first one. She pulled back her hand to cover her mouth in astonishment. I studied her face which seemed even more beautiful up close. He eyelashes were long and her eyes sparkled. I felt like the only women I saw as beautiful were black women. I then noticed the big purple bruise on the side of her face starting form her brow down to her jawbone. My Papa must’ve given her one lash before leaving her be. He was always so violent. He would hit Mama too if something ever provoked him as he was a heavy drinker and all. I looked at the bruise closely, our faces almost touching until she backed away. I grabbed her wrists in frustration as she tried to turn away. Why was she so afraid? I let go of one of her hands and brushed my hand softly and slowly against her smooth, baby-like face. It sent shivers down me as she calmed down and stared directly into my eyes. I pulled away my hand suddenly as I heard the sounds of coming footsteps and got up. It was like a dream to me. The first time I had talked to her- no, the first time I saw her- I new I loved her.

“ What’s your name?” I asked quickly.

“ Clementine.” She replied back. It was such a well suited name. I blushed at the thought as I took a second glance at her.

“ Goodnight Clementine!” I whispered as I rushed upstairs out of sight. My heart was pounding…