MULATTO (Iyila) (Editing)

chapter fifty two ~ Dedicated to Emanuella.

The drive back home to Charleston was cold as it was rainy, terribly uncomfortable and extremely quiet as neither Gabriel nor Iyila spoke a word to one another.

From her end of the carriage which Iyila sat, she stared out at the road as the trees steadily passed by, whispering in her ears that every gallop the horse made only moved them closer to Charleston and to the truth which they both had ignored in Okahana. At the Bed of Roses where they had sunk in each other's arms, making love and chatting away, evening had come with a certain realisation that it was all nothing but a charade; every moment, every kiss, every thing, all but a lousy charade that could not exceed Okahana.

Iyila sniffed a tear. Back in Okahana the previous evening, all the villagers had arranged a feast for their departure, but she, unlike Gabriel, could not feign happiness or cheerfulness. Martha and Hackit had believed the reason for her behaviour was due to Gabriel's ill-treatment which was also a fake display. But none of them knew, except Gabriel, that her reason for being quiet was truly due to him - Gabriel. Only because he was leaving and she had -- at the Bed of Roses when lying naked beneath him -- in her heart, silently hoped that he would stay. That she could make him stay. She had believed her alluring body would keep him around. Certainly not as his wife but even as his...shameful lover.

But as the carriage lurched further towards Charleston, she began to realise that it was absolute idiocy, sheer absurdity, to have ever thought of that.

To have ever harboured the hope that such a man as Gabriel would be held back by the whims of her pretty body, a man believed to have lain with all sorts of women.

What did she know about pleasuring a man!

He hadn't said anything to her after they returned from the Bed of Roses which likely meant he was disgusted by her petulance, or worse considered her uninteresting.

They had made love, but that wasn't a guarantee that he could love a person such as her, she was a Negro.

This thought, swiftly prompted tears to stream down her face.

He didn't even pull her close when they had slept that night. He had said nothing and even until now he was just quiet with a frown on his face.

She closed her eyes and tried not to think of anything, not to think of how disorganised her simple Negro life was before he came in. Iyila was still in her thoughts when she felt his hand encircle her waist. The motion caused her to flinch and erupt sparks in her stomach, memories of their first love making flashing through her mind.

"Liya" his voice came strained and forced in her ears. She was crying now and the sobs had followed.

"I am--I am--"

"No!"

She turned and stopped his lip from uttering another word. "No!" she angrily rebuffed and pushed him away, not too hard, just hard enough for him to notice her anger. "Liya I--I..."

"No!" she said again, sounding sterner.

"Liya what haas gotten into--"

"Do not touch me!" she slapped off his hand that was already reaching for her face. His eyes flashed with shock then unexpectedly, he took all her lips resulting to more emotion flooding in, but she managed to pull away even though she so badly wanted him to continue. His face displayed, shock and surprise again. "Why?"

"You might be my master, but you have no right to treat me like this!" she cried. She was referring to her feelings. "What did I do?"

She looked at him, unable to tell him his offense, that he'd robbed her off her heart.