The Prophets(54)

The hands were laid upon them again, and in unison they called her by her name. It was then that the clouds began to form, interrupting the sun while it was in the middle of a crime. After a moment, the mossy air announced the storm that was on its way. And little by little, the droplets formed and came down first with care upon the parched earth.

“They’re here,” Maggie said softly and all the women turned to see.

Inside the barn, the dust swirled; Essie saw it. It came up from the ground as though it were alive. And it had form and grace. She knew then that what she saw wasn’t just some random breeze troubling the dirt. It was them, showing themselves in a way she could understand and not be frightened by, but she didn’t think she would be scared of their true form either, which is what she longed for.

“Rejoice,” Maggie said. “For we have reason.”

And all the women jerked their shoulders and laughed.



* * *



—

PUAH LOOKED OUT to the darkening sky. “What time is it?”

“What difference do it make? We close our eyes and then we open them. And here we are. Still here,” Sarah said.

“But the toubab be back soon,” Puah said wearily.

“Don’t worry ’bout them. They expect us to be here. How else these boys finna get back to work if not for our hands?” Maggie said to her.

Puah held herself a little closer. She touched her lips as though a thought had come to her only to be lost again. The sides of her head had become hot and impatience was crawling up her back. She stood up and went to the door. She held her hand out to touch the rain. She rubbed her wet hand on her face and came back to the circle.

“What now?” she asked.

“Now, we wait,” Maggie replied.

The women all fell silent as Sarah sucked her teeth, got up, walked over to the entrance, and pressed her back against the barn door frame. The rain was easing. It never got to be the storm she had hoped it would be. She didn’t know why, but she needed to see lightning streak across the heavens. She needed to feel thunder rumble her to the gut. Give her a rhythm to undo her hair and replait it by. But no, none of that came for her. Not even a cool mist.

Be Auntie rose and walked toward Sarah until she was shoulder to shoulder with her. She looked out into the dusk. How golden it was, momentarily, before it turned itself inside out to show its lovely bruises, mauve blending into a blush. She would allow herself to regard it as beauty, even in such a grotesque place, even when her own had been abused. No, nothing could be ugly ever again. Not a sky, not a stream, not even two silky people lying on the ground in need of healing.

Maggie stood and joined them. She could unhook herself from the need to believe beauty might have a place that wasn’t subject to anyone’s unwanted hands and sour breath. Wasn’t no way this place was going to keep thinking she was its prime fool. Not at all. Not as long as she had fists. And even if they took those, the stubs.

Essie looked toward the three women standing at the doorway. She didn’t understand why she wasn’t already dead. Maggie had told Essie that she came from the line of those who built the great angles, but Essie’s angle came first, time not being straight. Living, as she was, in the crest of her creases, turned upside down for her own pleasure no matter who dared it without being beckoned, but even then, the truth of it pointing toward the brightest star in the sky. For all the men, women, and others who had used her as their shitting pot, she should have been broke down, should have already surrendered to the worms. And maybe she was a little bit broke down, but in hidden places like the edge of her elbows and in between her toes, where memory slipped in and wouldn’t be loosed, not even after a mud ritual. No, the images pressed themselves in, and every so often, when she bent in the field or when she had to kick an attacker in the groin, they would sing out: Here we are, darling! Let us fellowship.

Puah got up and then sat down next to Essie. She wondered, too, how she still had breath, how she hadn’t yet been ripped up, with so many toubab around needing nary a reason—and she knew they had plenty. The cow was always useful for something. Milk, if not labor. Labor, if not meat. Meat, if not milk. Rape. But this wasn’t the time to ponder such things. She knew Maggie would tell her that she had to give the circle its time.

The women, one by one, turned and came to sit back down. They were a semicircle, all facing one another. In the distance, thunder finally let itself roll. Sarah lifted her head and inhaled as though searching for something in the air that she almost found, but didn’t. She lowered her chin. Maggie touched her shoulder. They looked at each other.

“I know, chile. We all know.”

Be Auntie and Puah shook their heads. Essie held her hand against her neck. Maggie looked at her.

“Sang a little, Essie,” she said, attempting to bring the women back from the breach.

Essie nodded. Sitting in the old style, she straightened up her back and gripped her knees. She began to rock back and forth. She closed her eyes and tilted her head to the side. And when her lips parted, all the women, chins high, eyes wide, mouths breathless, clutched themselves in preparation.





Romans We do not wish to mislead you into thinking you are all of royal blood.

You are not.

Yet, do not imagine that royal blood is of any significant import.

It is not.

Often, it is the most impure, arriving at its creation through vanity and more than a little cruelty.