Natashia Deon: Grace

Massa comes close to me, leans into me. His swollen nose is laced with thin red veins, like he walked into a bloodied cobweb.

“I’m ready,” Hazel say. “Massa. . I’m ready.”

He touches my cheek with his damp yellow fingers. “Where have they had you hidin, darlin?”

“Leave ’er lone!” Hazel say.

“Don’t worry,” Massa say, grinning. “I won’t bite.”

I hold still, hear the buzz of that strange silence again. Broken now by footsteps trotting up our porch outside. A knock at our door follows. This time, quick and eager. I know that knock.

Nobody moves.

“Get it,” Massa tell Hazel.

She don’t go.

“Girl!” he say.

When she get to the door, she opens it slow. James is there with a handful of freshly picked wild flowers. His smile is like the sun on ’em, but when he sees her, his face dims. “You all right, Hazel?”

From where I stood behind her, I could see a tear fall from her chin to her chest. She shakes her head slowly trying to make it so Massa cain’t see. James takes a step back down the porch.

“Don’t leave the boy waitin,” Massa say, pushing the door open all the way. He puts his arm around Hazel. “Take the flowers, girl.”

Hazel’s slow to. But she do.

“Where’s my manners? Come on in, boy.”

James obey. He’s with us now.

His head’s hung low as he walks through our door, searching the room with his eyes. He stops across from us, alone and small-looking.

“So what brings you my way on a beautiful evening like tonight?” Massa say. “Oh. . the flowers. That’s real nice.”

James bows his head meekly and folds his hands in front of him so he ain’t a threat. His Sunday shirt hangs past his knuckles. James say, “We was gon’ ask permission, suh.”

“You was gon’ ask permission?”

“Yes’sa. Got permission from Massa Lewis and. .”

“I look like Massa Lewis?”

“Naw, suh,” James say. “If you just have a word wit Massa Lewis, suh.”

Massa relights his cigar, puffs it slow, patting the top and bottom of it with both lips. He say, “Seems to me I got a fox in my henhouse, Boss. A fox messin ’round with what’s mine. What I clothe, feed, and provide shelter. Screwin ’em before me. What you think about that, Boss?”

Boss shakes his head. “Very disrespectful, suh.”

“How you punish somethin like that?”

Boss lifts his shoulders. “Don’t know.”

Massa pulls his cigar out of his lips slow but makes a quick jerk of his hand. Before I know where it went, the wall explodes a hole of blossoming splinters. Shards of wood fly in my face and prick the front of my neck and chest. The sound crashes in my ears. I cup ’em to stop the ringing but a smell like burnt hair and wood sweeps the air. Everything sits still now except for Massa’s gun making its smoke dance.

Hazel and Momma throw themselves to the floor but James ain’t moved.

His big brown eyes are wide open, with a hole in his forehead.

A line of blood slides down like sweat.

He falls to the floor.

Hazel’s hands draw to her mouth and tears cover her eyes.

“Shit!” Massa say. “See what you made me do!” he say to Boss. “You short-poured the lead again. Made the bullet split. I told you to re-melt the whole damn thing together. You can’t patch a bullet!” Massa slides his hands down the back of his head. “Fuck me!” he say. “You know what that’s gon’ cost me, Boss? Do ya? I was just gonna scare ’im.”

Massa rams his pistol back down his pants and its pearly white handle flashes us from under his brown jacket. He follows the bullet’s path to the wall, touching the impact. “See, Boss? It shoulda missed and gon’ clean through here.”

“Yes, suh, Massa, suh.”

Massa blows out hard, washes his hands over his face. “You made me kill that fox.”

Hazel won’t move her sight from James. Tears drip steady from her chin while Momma cry, “Jesus, Jesus.”

My hands stay on my ears. I’m afraid to move ’em, ’fraid to let out the ringing that’s in ’em and make all this true. I imagine its church bells instead.

“Now, where were we?” Massa say over the ringing. “Yes, the girl. .” He look at me.

Hazel wails.

Massa say, “Boss, get that fox outta here.”

Boss picks up James, but cain’t get a good hold on him. He folds James’s limp arms across his chest to make ’em stay put, carries him to the door, leaking red.

I ain’t letting go my ears.

Momma’s knees creak back and forth on the floor.

“Where were we?” Massa say again.

He staggers toward me and I walk on my knees away from him, the invisible wall that keeps space between us pushes me back toward the fire. He forces me to the side of the table where I knock my head and my hands let go my ears to hold the table.

The pain of what Massa just done rush to me, red-blooded. My neck’s getting hot, my hands is sweating. Hazel’s cries is louder. She runs over to Boss, pulls his arms from James, beg to let him alone.

Massa say, “Gon’ get ’im outside.”

That ready-poker. I see it next to me, pressing me to take it.

Boss opens the door.

I spin around and grab it, launch it deep inside Massa’s belly before my mind tell me no.

Massa’s mouth falls open.

His eyes bulge.

He begs me to stop but I ain’t gon’ stop. I push it through him and my hands slide down the pole. His blood squeezes out warm around my fists. And he stops reaching for me. I want this.

Boss drops James when he see us.

He throws hisself at me trying to beat me loose, but I cling to that poker, shake it in.

Boss rams his fist to my hand. I still don’t let go.

Rams my head. My face go numb.

I try to stand, but cain’t. I don’t wanna fight no more.

I push across the floor, crawling my way to Hazel, half-blind. She’s hunched over James trying to fix him. Momma’s on top of Boss. Got that poker in his back, the other end in her hand. She’s digging it in. His blood rains on the floor.

A second blast races around the room and I throw myself to the ground. Don’t know if I’m hit or dead or deaf, the sound exploding from everywhere — a long whistle in my ear. Don’t feel myself hurt.

When I open my eyes, Hazel ain’t moved from cuddling James. I squint toward Momma, find her staring at me like she just asked a question and she’s waiting for an answer. But her calm expression turns painful. She don’t let her eyes fall from mine when blood spreads from the middle of her dress. “Momma!” I yell. She hunches over and falls as Massa sits perched on his knees across the room holding that pistol. The weight of it flops his hand sideways and he fall with it.

“Momma!” I say, scooting across the floor to wake her, to make her well, but she ain’t moving. Only the wind of her last breath do.

Behind us, Massa takes his last, too.

The wet of her dress makes my hand red. “Hazel! Momma’s dead!”

But Hazel won’t look away from James. She’s holding his hand. I can hear her talking to him. Praying. I try to wait. . wait long enough and say, “Hazel, what we gon’ do?”

Hazel don’t get up. She stay praying. Seem like a hour before she say, “Amen.” Finally, she stands, strong as always except when she sees Momma, her knees buckle.

Calmly, she say, “I want you to go, Naomi. Far as you can. Go where cain’t nobody find you.”

“Where I’m gon’ go, Hazel? I cain’t leave you and Momma.”

She nods and goes over to the fire pit, pulls her smoldering Bible out the fire. She presses it on her dress to stop it smoking. And I cain’t stop shaking. “Momma’s dead, Hazel!”

She comes to me, hugs me, but her comfort ain’t enough to stop this pain or the tears that pain makes to carry itself out of me.