MULATTO (Iyila) (Editing)

chapter nine ~ Dedicated to my sister

A FAMILY DRAMA

The next morning came in like the biblical view of Christ's coming - unexpectedly.

And as usual, the slaves had to wake up to yet another day of continuous toiling in South Carolina's treacherous weather where complaining was never considered as solace.

So after a meal of some stale bread and leftover oatmeal, they began their normal chores. Working at the rice plantation was delegated to most black slaves whereas some of the mulattos were saddled with the responsibility of cleaning, cooking, running errands, and other such mundane chores. For the owners of the mansion, ten o'clock in the morning was considered an early rise.

Although this morning was quite an unusual one for Colette. Because today, she woke up just as early as the slaves which was very unlike her.

The previous night had been an awful one and her desire for daybreak was immense but the arrival of morning came in too sluggishly; she couldn't sleep because her head couldn't stop pondering about the previous day's show - nor could she erase the thought of his weary eyes, that for a minute held a tiny bit of strength, a sort of determination to fight death that could be considered as valour - before it resigned to a short moment of pain, mixed with a faint joy and then eventually turned lifeless.

Countless times she had tried to convince herself that she was not the murderer, that Zachary was, but this thought just seemed unstoppable because deep down she knew she had caused it.

As she rolled to the other side of the bed, it creaked and squeaked once again as she tried to settle down onto it.

Other than that, silence reigned. The only noises detectable were the chirping of some crickets in the nearby bushes and her silent sobs. She tried to close her eyes believing it would help her fall asleep but then again the memory of his lifeless body haunted her.

That night alone she was troubled by two menacing nightmares, both about the dead boy.

The first was at an old farm; characteristically abandoned - covered with dead dried leaves, likewise, fairly recognizable. However, considering the head wrap and the dirty, old, weathered linen gown she was wearing which barely covered her whole body and smudgy shoes, identifying herself as a field slave was not an issue. As though crazed in the head and wearing an expression of a bewildered person, she screamed for help - but none came. Somehow she managed to wake up but quickly dismissed her fears with laughter, concluding that a mistress would never be a slave and instantly resumed her sleep.

Then the second followed. This was further dreadful than the former. Although the same venue, clothing and status, she was not alone but was among three other black slaves who were busily laughing and making fun of her.

Confused as to what to make of the situation she relied on crying and screaming for help. Then, as if commanded by an unknown female voice to look up, she did and sighted a male figure, richly dressed and walking towards them. As the person progressed forward she realized it was Zachary. But within the blink of an eye, Zachary immediately turned into the dead slave boy. The most vivid fragment of the boy's appearance was the blood on his shirt. It was the same place he was shot by Zachary. Before she could muster up the courage to run for her life it was already too late, he shot her. Right at the spot she had witnessed Zachary shoot him.

She was awakened by her own scream of "No!" Her chest heaved with the rhythm of her heart beat which seemed to echo around the silent room and she discovered she'd been drenched by her own sweat.

She gave up her quest of finding sleep when she realized that sleep was farther than she imagined. She decided to get up and perhaps indulge herself in something to wile away the time before her routine hour for waking. Moving to the window she glanced at the pendulum clock on the wall, the time was just thirty minutes past six o'clock.