91
" They sat in a sphere of quiet, save the sound of theirbreathing and the carriage’s creaks and sways. Outside,the coachman yelled his encouragement to the steedsmoving them forward. The whole carriage cocoonedthem in a peculiar world with the heaven’s wool-thickmists pressing against the windows. Her hand didn’t stop rubbing his neck, but sheshifted her leg, bending her knee to rest her leg onhis thigh. Her patten slipped off, dropping to the floorwith a thud. Cyrus’s head moved off the squab. “Are youundressing for my benefit?” His smile’s wicked curve played on her. From herstays to her drawers, everything was too tight, toomuch against her skin. Cyrus reached for her handworking his neck muscles. He brought it to his lips andkissed her knuckles thrice with slow adoration. “We don’t have to stop,” she said, her voice breathyand quick. “I’m sure you have more aches and pains.” Mid-kiss, he smiled against the back of her hand, hiswarm breath brushing her skin. “There are so many ways a man could go withthat.” Humor lightened his voice. “But I’m sure youmean to provide tender care to my neck only.” She grinned at her unintended innuendo. This wasthe experience she craved—to flirt and tease, to kissand touch. Cyrus put his lips to her wrist, marking herwith hot kisses. A spangle of pleasure shot up her arm. “You would break down the meanest soul withyour soft heart.” He set her hand on the blanket’sscratchy folds, his thumb caressing her wrist. “High praise, indeed, sir.” Tinseled sparks danced across her skin, not lettingher recover from those gentle touches, his lips to herarm. He stroked a lone finger on her hand that restedbetween them. “And you don’t care one bit that I’m the son of aMidland swine farmer, do you?” Cyrus asked the unexpected question, but his voiceconveyed confidence in her answer. Was her chivalrousbrawler showing a hidden spot? She peered athim, wanting a better view of his shadowed features. How was she to decipher this latest turn? The carriage bumped and rocked, and the outsidecandle lantern swung another shaft of light inside. Hisquicksilver stare pinned her. “Miss Mayhew, have you ever wondered how afreehold farmer got to be in such a fine place? "
97
" People think blood red, but blood don't got no colour. Not when blood wash the floor she lying on as she scream for that son of a bitch to come, the lone baby of 1785. Not when the baby wash in crimson and squealing like it just depart heaven to come to hell, another place of red. Not when the midwife know that the mother shed too much blood, and she who don't reach fourteen birthday yet speak curse 'pon the chile and the papa, and then she drop down dead like old horse. Not when blood spurt from the skin, on spring from the axe, the cat-o'-nine, the whip, the cane and the blackjack and every day in slave life is a day that colour red. It soon come to pass when red no different from white or blue or black or nothing. Two black legs spread wide and mother mouth screaming. A black baby wiggling in blood on the floor with skin darker than midnight but the greenest eyes anybody ever done seen. I goin' call her Lilith. You can call her what they call her. "
― Marlon James , The Book of Night Women