MULATTO (Iyila) (Editing)

chapter sixteen ~ Dedicated to My friend Sandra

Iyila's hand was bruised and by evening, the spot had turned black. Quickly and carefully, she rolled the leaf in between her palms until a dark green liquid appeared which she carefully dropped on the spots. It was painful, she closed her eyes as the liquid began to do it's job. The pain was as if her flesh was been pierced by needles. She remembered Magarita had told her that it could stitch wounds and was grateful to have found the leaves in the mistress' garden because they were rare. It was a leaf Magarita had showed her and Cherrie Priscilia when they were still children.

She lay on her back as the pangs of pain in her stomach began. She wished Magarita had also shown her a leaf to soothe women's pain but she had not planned for it.

She closed her eyes and tried to imagine what Magarita and Cherrie Priscilia where doing at that moment. They usually sang a song before they ate dinner and then Magarita would tell them a story before they slept. Even so, she remembered that she and Cherrie Priscillia never slept but played until they were tired.

She remembered the long hours Magarita spent in combing Priscillia's hair and how she giggled whenever Priscillia started her whining.

Magarita would pursue them from one place to another and Iyila was always caught. She remembered always loosing to Priscillia in their hide and seek games; also Priscillia's aweful voice and her stubborness; and William, the only boy who didn't see her skin as dirt. Iyila smiled. Those were the good days before life showed her it's true identity. However she believed all of that had changed. Seven years was too long for them to remain the same. Perhaps Cherrie Priscillia was already married to William because they never stopped arguing. Hopefully, they already had a son with blonde hair, perhaps a daughter too. And Magarita, the last time she saw her was at the plantation and she looked frail which made her wonder if Magarita was alright or not.

Magarita and Cherrie Pricillia were the only happy memory she had. In order to thwart being hurt, she rarely thought of them. It was in her past, but she could not easily forget them.

Iyila heard a voice calling her name and when she opened her eyes, she saw Deila standing in front of her; a quizzical expression on her face and she wondered how long Deila had been staring at her.

"Wha ya smiling so much" Deila asked. "How long have you been staring at me?" she replied with a question as she rose up.

"Nod so lang, ya nee' ter hurry, we's can nod miss dinner," Deila said. Iyila nodded and got up. She noticed that the pain in her stomach was no more and that of her hand was not as severe as before. By the time they got out she noticed that the sun had returned to it's shelter and the moon had taken it's place. It made her wonder how long she had lain there thinking of Magarita and Cherrie Priscillia.

* * *

Deila managed to convince Iyila to accompany her to the stream to have her bath. It was the fifth time in the week she had begged Iyila to agree, but not until that night. "Come wid me, ha promise dah yas gonna be save," Deila had said and to her surprise Iyila said yes. Amidst her shock Deila was also happy, but she never knew that Iyila had other reasons why she agreed. Other motives which she was eager to explore. The idea of a bathe was ridiculous, but Iyila was willing to risk it because of the neatly folded paper in her bosom. She had found it difficult to bring it out because the slave-vigil was too vigilant and the last thing she wished was to be punished for being in possession of material abominable to negroes. For two days she had sought for an opportunity to read the paper but the shelter was always dark at night so she could see nothing. She willingly agreed and immediately Deila's plan was set, they ran away.

The pathway to the stream was narrow, dark and dangerous. As Iyila ran, she felt her skin been torn by the grass but she did not care. She noticed that Deila was a swift runner, but not like her. She overtook Deila though she did not know the path and in a second she felt Deila rushing towards her. She smiled and added more force to her game. She loved the breeze on her face and the swift whispers the evening breeze gave. It had been long she ran like that and it made her smile but Deila was faster than she had anticipated and the next thing she saw was herself been forcefully shoved to the ground. Deila had pushed her and rushed away laughing. She got up and in full speed pursued Deila until she caught up with her. Grabbing Deila's gown she shoved her to the ground but Deila was laughing and she followed too. The both of them were breathing hard.

"Ya a figh runner," Deila said as she gasped for air.

"And you run poorly," Iyila lied but Deila did not allow that to deter her, she continued to laugh.

"Witch!" Iyila said as she got up. Deila immediately jumped up and threw off her clothes then rushed into the river. Iyila laughed and sat down on a stone near the bank. The river was calm and beautiful especially with the light from the moon, reflecting on its surface; it made her think of freedom.

She quickly brought out the paper and the two inch candle she had stolen from cleaning the master's libary. She quickly lit it and moved it closer to the paper.

"Wha's ya 'olding?" Deila asked, slapping the water. "A letter," Iyila answered barely above a whisper. "Ha say whas ya 'olding?" Deila yelled.

"A letter!" Iyila yelled back. On hearing this Deila moved out of the water and rushed to her, kneeling beside her Deila spoke. "Where yo geh tit from?"

"The master's libary," Iyila replied and opened the paper while Deila stared at the letters. She could not understand a thing.

"Yo ken read?" Deila asked in surprise, Iyila nodded. "Abraham Lincoln as President of America," Iyila softly read the letters in bold, Deila meanwhile stared in amazement. Iyila quickly unfolded the letter. The word Illinios was stamped on it
Mr. John Martin's plantation
Charleston
South- Carolina
19/4/1860.
Dear John,
it is with a mournful heart that I write you this letter, and it pains me that I am the bearer of such news yet it is my obligation to do so.
You were indeed correct. Lincoln has declared his intensions for presidency, though, this I tell you is but unknown to many. My source says Lincoln had demanded utermost secrecy from all that was present. We must act fast, else Carolina will like Chicago, Newyork, Illinois, Michigan and the host of others be a free state. I do not see a neccessity to outline the consequences because I believe you already know so. Lincoln cannot be president!
Your Friend
Thomas Breadwill Laxwell."

"Wha does dah mean?" Deila asked, she was too eager to know the context of the letter. Iyila did not reply her but only stared at the paper. She could not believe it. Iyila could not believe that indeed free states existed, where negroes were allowed to walk freely without fear or shame for their color. She had never believed it when a slave at Amos' plantation had told her of a free state, where negroes where allowed to dress decently and own houses and have husbands and children.

She immediately thought of Dede and what they could do. They could run away to Chicago and have a small house and a small farm and six little children; four boys and two girls. Where she could sew them preety bonnets and in the evening she and Dede could teach them how to read and write and perhaps they could also go with Deila and Tari, even Brown!

Hopefully they could even find her mother and sister there too. She gasped, that was the reason her mother had ran away to Chicago; because of freedom. All along, Iyila had thought that her mother had left because she could no longer suffer her presence, but it was never so. Staring at Deila she chuckled and in a cheerful tone said,

"We would run away, we have to run away Deila" .

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