Divided

Chap. Three

When she woke , Lizette expected everything to be the same. Work , sweat , work , sweat. She eyed the children with pity , who played around , or did other things. Their smiles would be gone , a mere memory when they became of age. Soon , they would have to endure cutting sugarcane for hours under the overseers.

She wondered why things had to be this way- whites on top , blacks on the bottom. Why couldn't there be peace between the two but only anger , hate , and pain ? Her mother used to speak of white people with bitterness. Her beautiful face scowled , contouring it into something foul , ugly.

" Don' trust whites , " her mother taught constantly. She would repeat the words like a mantra , making sure it stuck into her head. " Understand ? "

Lizette nodded in affirmative.

" Don' trust whites , " her mother said , once more for good measure. Her dark eyes were wet , wet with tears , but she held them back. Her daughter must learn to show no weakness to those pale devils , not even her own kind. This was no paradise , no heaven but hell. Only the toughest survived.

Lizette had wondered why she mourned , why she cried silently by her side that night. Sure , her mama never was too fond of white people in the first place but today , she was especially overwhelmed by sadness.

Lizette looked her mother over carefully , wondering what was different. She saw no marks , bruises , cuts , or burns did this time – her turban and dress looked a bit messy , like she had been rushing to put her clothes on. Her clothes were untidy and she was really , really upset... Lizette tried to put two and two together but failed. Her young mind just pushed it aside.

There were no signs of physical harm on her body so her mother hadn't been hurt. Right ?

That was her mother , Beatrice. She was a field slave too , since her youth. The difference between her and Lizette was Beatrice was used to pick cotton , which was often just as , if not worse , than cutting sugarcane. Lizette watched her mother at work , under the careful eye of a old woman – who spoke very bad English. So bad was her fluency that Lizette's old master Mr. Williams would get frustrated and order her to "shut the fuck up ! "

Whenever she spoke , people giggled or ignored her – negro or white. She earned the ridicule of both races.

And Lizette had asked , with her crude sign language , why didn't she talk ?

The old woman shrugged with indifference. But Lizette urged her to answer and the heavy set woman relented.

" No one listen."

" How- "

" Words useless- no one listen to them. No one listen I speak. So why open mouth ? Betta' to keep it shut. People leave you 'lone. Betta' that way."

Memories such as that pained Lizette. They reminded her of a time that was and never would be again. She wished the old woman was here to talk to her. No one really sought to socialize with her , not sense Lizette lost her voice. The old woman wouldn't laugh at her , but nod in silent empathy. Lizette was certain of it.

But most of all , she found herself tortured by her mother's state that day , the sight replaying in her mind over and over again. She was older now , and more understanding towards woman. Her mother had been in pain , there was no doubt , and yet she held it in. Out of pride. Nothing else her mama hated more than tears.

Tears were for the weak , pathetic. They earned no mercy , not as a slave. If anything , they either annoyed white people or made them giddy with glee. It was as if they were excited by the sight of blood. Every mistake , offense made a lot of those white men happy like it was Christmas.

She knew this because she watched her mother endure countless lashes to her back. And they made her watch on the Williams plantation , along with others , crying tears as blood dripped down Beatrice's back and stained her clothes crimson.

Her crime ?

She stole eggs just so they would have a little more to eat. Two meager eggs. Not that the fact made any difference.

It was another excuse to whip the slave's backs into raw meat , another chance to put niggers in their place.

Lizette breathed out , trying to pull herself back into reality. The past was and always would be gone. Waddling in it would waste time. But the present was no better. It was routine , hot , and exhausting until a high pitched scream rang out.

The slaves all picked up their heads , sending glances to each other.

" What the hell she screamin' for ? " demanded a thin overseer , looking towards Orangehead.

" Wouldn't know." He sounded bored , and pulled the brim of his hat over his eyes , shielding them from the sun.

" Hey y'all , it's a body ! " cried out a excited slave.

Some of the slaves stopped work , rushing to the scene. The overseers , curious themselves ignored them and Lizette – seeing it was safe - decided to find out what all the ruckus was about. She walked down the fields , until Lizette neared a crowd of slaves and some overseers on foot surrounding something.

" This ain't good , " whined a little boy named Stevie. He was infamous for being overly emotional. He sniffed his nose , already crying. Lizette pushed past him and the others until she got to the front. Lizette looked at the ground and her jaw dropped. Covered in blood , eyes wide open was a young woman. Her mouth was open , as if screaming in horror. But what disturbed Lizette more than anything else was the puncture wounds on her neck and the top of her...breast.

Uh...some snake or whatever decided to bite her neck and...tit ?

Her face burned at the perverted images running through her head. The corpse's neck was at a weird angle , no doubt broken and Lizette wondered who...or what was responsible. A animal , some said. However , everyone knew it just didn't add up.

If it were an animal the unfortunate slave woman would've been torn in shreds , and what bear would bite anyone on their breast ?

" Maybe he wanted some titty , " one of the men leered , and some others cackled. Lizette felt angry and mortified at the same time – angry they were joking at such a bad time , mortified at her vivid imagination conjuring up the scene in which that would've happened.

No. It couldn't be any animal. What ferocious animal would be so... not gentle but particular about where he attacked. And why hadn't his victim screamed...

Alice revealed her theory , after they had been forced back to work and returned home at sun down.

" It was a spook , " Alice insisted , for once not spiteful at the mute. Lizette stopped walking and put a hand on her hip as if to say oh REALLY ?

" It's a spook I'm tellin' you it's a spook ! " Lizette ignored her.

Alice threw her hands up.

" Fine , don' believe me. I hope a spook catches YOU ! "

A spook wasn't going to catch Lizette. They weren't even real. She didn't not know of any other world beyond this one.

That night , Alice actually got some cornmeal , pouring by the door a thin white line. She they prayed , sprinkling holy water after blessing the brackish stuff they got all the time , and thanking the "laos." Lizette poked her at the side when she was finished.

" What ? ! "

Lizette pulled back from Alice's screech and pointed at the white line. In a grave voice , Alice answered , " So bad souls won't come in and kill us."

She wanted to laugh at Alice's superstitious beliefs but she froze upon looking outside the window. Lizette could have sworn she saw something orange vanish as soon as she blinked an eye.