The Book of Night Women

by Marlon James

  At the stable Lilith stop and couldn’t move for a spell. There be Sacco, writhing and shaking and yelling into the gag, him feet, back, chest and cocky all cover in black ants. They traveling all over him body and biting every inch. Lilith think to run first, but stop. Lilith run to the horse trough and dip the bucket nearby in water and wash him from head to toe with it. She run to the trough for another bucket full and wash him again, rubbing him skin and feeling the welt rising from ants biting. She cuss her mind for noticing too much that she touching a naked man and rubbing some places that another Lilith wouldn’t touch. Some of the ants break off him and bite her. She slap them off and look at Sacco. Lilith hear of this before. Honey on the skin, ants in the day, mosquito in the night. When he finally wash full the other niggermens come back. They look at Lilith with the same wide-eye fear that they do the massa. The two mens run away. Lilith furious.

  —Little pussy like me still have bigger cock than the two of them, she say. She pull the gag out of Sacco mouth.

  —What you gonna do, Miss Lilith? You and me, we’s dead now, he say.

  The whole night Lilith in the kitchen but elsewhere. Dem cum was all over you, a voice say to her and Lilith jump. She turn around but there be nobody but her. Lilith take a candle out of the cupboard and light it with a stick of wood in the fire. As she set the candle down on the table, she look around at the orange walls and the black shadows jumping. A shadow move away from the others and go into a dark corner. Lilith have a start but catch her mouth. The woman again. The woman who belong to darkness. Lilith go to run but feel the weakness that been taking over her of late. She try to think of something Homer would say, or the womens by the river. The woman don’t move. Lilith move backways into the table and grab a knife.

  —What you doing? Dulcimena say as she enter the kitchen.

  —Nothing, me not doing nothing.

  —Maybe not to me, but dat knife out for somebody.

  —No.

  —Suit yourself. Next thing you start chat like dem mad nigger.

  It take two day for Lilith to see that Sacco gone, and one whole week to see that he not coming back.

  17

  LILITH LIVING AT COULIBRE FOR THREE FORTNIGHT NOW. When she not working in the kitchen, washing, baking, and feeding the little animals, she waiting on Miss Isobel when she come home every night.

  —We are to be married, your master and I, she say one evening when Lilith by the dresser brushing Miss Isobel hair. Miss Isobel look at Lilith through the looking glass when she say it. Lilith say, Yes, ma’am, and that be all. Miss Isobel screw her face.

  —Did you hear me? Your master has asked for my hand in marriage, she say.

  —Yes, ma’am.

  —Well, are you pleased?

  —Pleased, ma’am?

  —Yes. Are you happy?

  —Me sure everything is the lord will, ma’am.

  —I’m sure. Don’t pull me goddamn hair so tight, cain’t you do nothing right?

  —Sorry, ma’am.

  —Good heaven, just listen to me. I should be the one apologising. Goddamn indeed, where is my tongue this evening? I’m too much in the company of negroes, yes I am. Way too much. You have all but ruined me with your nigger ways. But anyway I’m very pleased, Lilith. I’ve heard reports that you’ve become quite the well-behaved little nigger. Maman is putting in a good word and she’s so difficult to please. And my, how you have taken over Dulcimena’s tasks. So easy as well, that it’s as if that poor negro was still here, Miss Isobel say.

  Lilith think hard ’bout this. One fortnight ago, Massa and Mistress Roget kill Dulcimena. It start when Lilith hear commotion up in the massa and mistress bedroom. How dare you come in here stinking of that damn nigger’s sweat, the mistress say. Lilith look over to see if Dulcimena hear it too but she just roll over. One door open and slam and then another door open and slam and that was it for that night. But then morning come and it look like Dulcimena forget to lock the goat pen from the night before. The goats let loose in Mistress Roget garden and eat nearly every flower in sight. When the mistress wake up and look outside her window, she scream like somebody killing her. She run outside in nightclothes to the garden and still screaming. She try to shoo the goats from the flowers but they just run from one plant to the next.

  —Dulcimena! the mistress bawl out.

  —Dulcimena!

  Dulcimena run out from the kitchen to see two niggermens shooing the goats back to the pen. The mistress yell to the two mens to grab Dulcimena and forget the goats. They rip off her dress right there and Dulcimena start to bawl. They drag her off to the nearest tree and tie her up by the hand and pull her up till she swinging. Dulcimena begging for the massa to save her but Massa Roget ride right past her to go to Kingston.

  The mistress wield the cart whip herself. Lilith always hear she do such a thing but never see for herself before. She flog Dulcimena as hard as she could flog, swinging the whip wide and lashing Dulcimena back till the skin tear into flesh and the flesh tear into blood. The mistress get tired and rest for a few. Nobody beg for Dulcimena. Every time the mistress get tired, she sit down for a spell and have the new grounds nigger whip her till she ready to flog her again. Dulcimena get one hundred sixty-six lash that day and the mistress say she would have derby-dose her too if any of the negroes was setting to pass shit. When they cut Dulcimena down, she fall hard on the ground and never move. Dulcimena scream right through the night and Lilith didn’t have nothing but water to wipe her. Lilith have to gag her when the massa shout out that he was coming down there with a musket if she don’t shut up.

  Dulcimena never get up from the floor again, even after the massa walk in and kick her two time in the side and one time in the pussy and call her a lazy, lying cow. Lilith try to help her, but Dulcimena didn’t want to help herself no more. In days she swell and swell with so much pus and water that she just burst and dead. As soon as Dulcey dead, all her duty fall on Lilith.

  That be when Lilith starting to see that while she frighten, fear would rush out like sea tide and something else would roll in. Something that make her cook with the devil in her heart. Lilith did still have spiritedness ’bout her, but this time she keep quiet and make the spirit work secret-like. Lilith start to imagine what white flesh look like after a whipping. What white neck look like after a hanging and what kinda scar leave on a white body after black punishment. She think of the little Roget boy, Master Henri, of tying and hanging the boy up by him little balls and chopping him head off. She make the thoughts of white blood work into a fever. She have to snap herself out of it before she cut her own fingers with the kitchen knife. She think of these Coulibre niggers who loyal to the massa and work against each other even though he killing them off one by one, and she think of Massa Humphrey and of blood and what sound a white body make when he fall from fifty feet.

  Lilith don’t know what to do with her head. She think to cut it off so that her mind would stop haunt her. Dulcimena, no matter what wrong with her, could still laugh like God did wish a niggerwoman joy. Seem that when Dulcimena dead, the noise in the house dead with her and the corridors feel colder. Lilith cook the meals fast, so she have plenty time to think about how she no got nobody. One day, she so sick with herself that she go from room to room downstairs looking for something to make her mind flee from herself, even if that mean more work. She open a door that never open before and smell something that leave her memory a long time ago. She close her eye and breathe in long and deep. She breathe out long and slow and breathe in deep again. That scent, like tobacco, or an old batch of spice.

  Books.

  Wall and wall and wall and wall of nothing but book.

  Massa Roget library.

  Nigger got no reason to mess with books, not even to clean them. She pull a blue book out, open it and then clap the thing shut. There be something in the sound that make her giggle. She pull another one out and blow the dust off the top and feel she just clear away a secret mystery. Books. She
grab one book because it red like a cherry and another because it red like blood. Lilith run her fingers along a shelf of brown book that feel like the skin of a shoe. Leather. She pull out one and carve in the front is a ship, while at the back is a half woman, half fish. Lilith never see the like of which before. In the book was handwriting but the writing too tight for her to make out any word. And Lilith did more spelling than reading so making out words was still not easy. Some words she know without thinking, others she had to call out the letter until the shape fit into her mouth and she know it. At the end of the same shelf of leather books she pull out the last one. Behind that book was another. Lilith go the door and look east and west. The mistress was asleep and Matraca would never leave that room upstairs. The massa was a good four hours away. Lilith go back to the shelf and pull out four to see which books hiding behind them. One say Fanny Hill, one say Moll Flanders and one say something that look like it write by the devil. The next one spit out dust and make her cough. She put them back and her finger brush another book, with a rough skin like linen or osnaburg. She look outside at the sunset and pull the book and gasp when she open it.

  Joseph Andrews.

  Massa Humphrey come to supper at Coulibre after dusk. Lilith watch him as he seat Miss Isobel first, then sit down beside her. Francine seat Mistress Roget, then stand behind her. The supper table not longer than Montpelier’s but it dress more fabulous, with lace mats and shiny silver candle holder in the middle and blue and white plates that Dulcimena used to say worth more than a brand-new nigger. Miss Isobel and Massa Humphrey to one side. Massa Roget at the head and Mistress Roget at the foot. Before they even commence to eating, Miss Isobel tell her father how Montpelier niggers be getting away with so much murder that nobody goin’ surprise when they commit the act.

  —A nigger not be like, I mean is not like, a man, Humphrey. Papa says that in his ways he is more like a cockatoo. Was that not what you said, Papa, was that not what you said exactly? They can imitate us, but above that they are still beasts that’d even kill their own? Miss Isobel say over roast goose and stuffed fowl.

  —My daughter speaks my exact words, young sir. They are beasts that kill their own. I had a kitchen slave who killed her own twins, several months ago. Gave the poor bastards a Christian burial myself. Killers, the lot of them.

  —Then in that regard they are more like us than we care to imagine, Massa Humphrey say.

  —God’s words! Why must blood be brought up at the table! My husband and daughter are so insufferable, the mistress say, but nobody listening to her.

  —Oh, no, young sir, they are nothing like us, they have no interest in the finer arts, knowledge, literature and science, nothing that man has put in place for his own advancement. No, sir, Massa Roget say.

  —Neither do we, for the most part. In the colonies for certain, I must say. Present company excluded, of course.

  —Good sir, you flatter me. I’ve certainly had my share of intelligence, but we were speaking of these unfortunate negroes.

  —Some of his slaves choose when to have their own meals, Papa, Miss Isobel say.

  —What? Good sir, surely my daughter speaks false.

  —I think a negro is quite capable of knowing when he is hungry, sir. And truthfully, I don’t much care. Production is up and Montpelier continues to be the envy of many.

  —That may be so, Master Wilson, but how do you know you’re not on the brink of rebellion? No, milord, take some stern words from a man who’s endured a lot more than you. You weren’t here for seventeen sixty. Oh, that was a year. Sixty good souls murdered all because these bushmen wanted to set up their African state! Confound it!

  —Tacky?

  —So you have heard of Tacky and his little revolt?

  —I’ve heard of him and of seventeen sixty.

  —A dark year for this island. Your father was involved, sir, surely he must have told you. I fought by his side myself!

  —My father was never one to have me in his confidence.

  —I see. Well, as we are in the company of such fine, gentle ladies I shall not bring up that bloody, tragic event.

  —Please refrain from such, Mr. Roget, for you shall aggravate my poor nerves, Mistress Roget say.

  —I daresay there is nothing poor about your nerves, Mrs. Roget, certainly not to this purse, Massa Roget say to him wife, then turn back to Massa Humphrey.

  —No, sir, slaves cannot be trusted to do anything themselves.

  —Not even eat, sir?

  —What are we doing right now, Humphrey? Speak up, boy.

  —I will not be called a boy, sir.

  —My apologies, good sir, I am remiss, Massa Roget say, looking at Miss Isobel.

  —Well, unless my vision serves me wrongly, I’d say we were eating.

  —Eating and what else?

  —Really, sir, I wish you’d get to the—

  —Eating and talking, sir, we’re talking. We are in discourse. And who’s to say your negroes aren’t doing the same? A chance to talk in numbers is a chance to gossip, conspire and plot. Most estates have one gentleman or lady to thirty to thirty-three niggers, Humphrey. Thirty-three sullen, lazy, rebellious negroes, many unseasoned. Have you been to the dark continent, sir?

  —Oh, no, Venice was as dark as my travels got me, I’m afraid.

  —Well, curse me, I’ve been. So savage a disposition is the blackie that many cook and eat their enemies! The heart they find a particularly tasty dish.

  —Mr. Roget! Mistress Roget say.

  —Mrs. Roget. The truth shall never be an unwelcome guest at my table. Not at all. As I was saying, they, meaning the negro, have a ferocity in manner that must be tamed. At all times they must fear you, Master Humphrey, they simply must. Because they are capable of thought, some anyway, and once you have them thinking beyond fear of the cowhide, they will see strength in numbers.

  —My negroes are quite docile.

  —Your negroes are plotting. You must tame these beasts, young sir, you must never, ever let a slave forget that you are master. At least those Maroons have begun to behave themselves accordingly—well, as accordingly as wild rutting beasts can possibly be. Raided us all the time, they used to, and who can blame them? Why raise chickens when you can steal them, after all? Even they were of little use in seventeen sixty.

  —Seventeen sixty, you say? Pardon me, I’ve just realised. My father had never even seen Jamaica before the seventeen seventies.

  —Really? I could have sworn . . . nevertheless, I shall not ever forget that year, sir, even though I was quite young myself when it happened. I shall take it to my grave. That Tacky was a demon. That—that . . .

  Massa Roget didn’t finish the sentence. He start cough little, then hard, then he start trembling and grabbing him left shoulder with him right hand. He fall back in the chair and him face red like beet. Massa Roget eyes gone.

  —Good lord! Massa Humphrey say and jump up. The mistress and Miss Isobel rush to him too.

  —Dearest Papa, what’s the matter? Miss Isobel say.

  —Water! Water! Get him water! Mistress Roget say. Massa Roget coughing and him eye getting redder. He squeeze him left arm with the right and he shaking all over. Everything he say come out as a cough or a wheeze.—He wants water! Mistress Roget say. Him face get redder. He cough up something dreadful. Miss Isobel grab her father, and almost push the mistress out of the way. Everything quiet save for the wheezing sucking in and out of him chest. Francine pour water from a pitcher to a glass and give it to Miss Isobel. Miss Isobel hold the glass to her father mouth and he gulp down the water and cough. Plenty time pass before he stop breathing queer-like.

  —For heaven’s sake, sir, do you need a physician? Massa Humphrey say.

  —I already know the great physician, Massa Roget say and try to laugh but the laugh turn into a cough.—Probably just the wind leaving me for a second, not for the first time either. Fret—fret not, young sir, this too shall pass.

  Massa Humphrey look at hi
m for a long time. Lilith was by the door watching Massa Roget. She didn’t look at Massa Humphrey.

  Mistress Roget, who was red herself from not getting to talk, finally say that while Lilith has come a long way, she still have a disturbing spiritedness that must be tamed. So the Roget family get new permission to whip Lilith. Lilith get whip and hit so much that she could tell just from the sound what a nigger was getting beaten with. Lilith know the sound of cowskin on young flesh and how different it be when it lash old flesh. Lilith know the difference between the smart of the rope, cowskin, cart whip, bullwhip, slap with wedding-ring finger, punch, box, and hot tea throw on her dress. Most of the whipping, pinching, hiding, scraping, cutting, thumping and punching Mistress Roget do herself. Even though otherwise she never come out of bed, sake of the hard birthing she do for the young’un, or so she claim to anybody who would hear, even negro.

  Lilith take her beating in silence. But fire going off in her head. Blood spraying and flesh tearing. Lilith can’t sleep, not ’cause the cuts from the whip burnin’ her, but because darkness burnin’ in her own heart. Ashanti blood racing through her and she can’t stop thinking about white people shedding theirs. Even the two young children. Lilith count how much lash she get each time and by who and she remember it. She think of Mistress Roget getting tie to a tree and getting whip till she raw. She think of dashing salt in her gashes until the mistress smell like corned pork. She think of a cornstalk thick like black man cock ramming up Massa Roget arse so hard that he piss blood in him own bath. Lilith having dark thoughts and think the devil taking control of her. And there be no Homer to know without Lilith telling and help without Lilith asking. There be only Joseph Andrews. There be only one man, one soul, that can make her laugh and he be neither black nor real: