"Day of Vow" (cont'd as Part 4)

Day of Vow (cont'd last part of the story)
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About us Zorina.

That was so shocking to hear out of a white man's mouth and she couldn't believe that he was acknowledging that there was an us between them. Honestly, she had started to believe that she was just some fool traumatized by a rape, obsessed with getting from the rapist himself some kind of acceptance or forgiveness or approval.

But he had said us just now.

"Will you come, please?"

"Yes�Noble."

Miss Lindy was all teeth, wrinkles and huge blond hair as she went up to receive the award for Glassmaker of the Year. The entire dinner was for her. There were no competitors, no judges, no nominees. She thanked a long list of people, but not one of them was Zorina.

Othello came.

He had driven up with his wife Lissa Mondi, but some old white man had turned them away at the door and by the time Miss Lindy was told of it, it was too late.

Zorina could smell the smoke from the school again, but she tried not to let it get to her. She was the only black person at the whole affair and found herself roundly ignored.

Completely and absolutely.

For one thing�her young body in the strapless, tight white gown had upstaged all of the other women. The fact that she was such a pretty girl and the only oasis of colored skin in the room had made her into a striking kind of exotic goddess flower. It took Zorina a few hours to figure out that white people don't appreciate it when a black woman does something that only white women are supposed to be able to do. They could accept her as a young, raggedy maid�but not as a beautiful black woman of childbearing age.

The biggest surprise was Golf's strange behavior.

He didn't look at Zorina one�single�time. Even when she spoke to him (to get him to look) he acted as if she were butt naked or something. The other men seemed to sweat whenever she walked by them. They clung to their wives and girlfriends as if they felt literally threatened. Zorina felt dirty, because not even the waiters and maids (all Indians and Asians) would acknowledge her presence or her beauty. Cribbitch was too young to attend the party and Maritza Buitengracht simply didn't socialize with kaffir girls in public, period.

Out of great fires, the breathtaking glasses that Zorina had created lined their velvet tiers like trophies, and increasingly, Zorina wanted to scream out that she was the one who had formed and sculpted everyone of them by hand! It was her they gathered to honor�the kaffir girl! All of this glassed beauty was because of the monumental sorrow that had pushed forth her genius, but she couldn't do that to the Theron family and get away with it. The cost would be too high. Like the mice who lived in the walls back home, the white people scampered around merrily, careful not to make eye contact or place themselves in the open, away from the safety of the walls. How many souls had they nibbled on to stand here munching caviar and sipping martinis�and why did Zorina want so desperately to be acknowledged and accepted by them?

By the end of the night, Zorina felt as if she were just a coffee stain on somebody's white silk lap napkin.

She made it to Golf and Maritza's suite at two in the morning. Golf, who seemed to have been waiting by the door, let her in and then quickly rushed her through the black darkness to the lighted doorway of his room. It had been years since his hands had gripped Zorina's body this way and she thought she might pee on herself from the adrenaline that was pulsing through her veins as his large white hands tightened around her soft little cinnamon-stick arm.

"Don't make a sound", he whispered harshly, his breath smelling like liverwurst and scotch, and there was no more music, no more light coming from Maritza's room. Just black silence�her door closed.

Slowly, Golf closed the door to his own room and Zorina wondered how she should act? She had seen Halle Berry in a cinema film and liked the combination of vulnerability and strength that the actress possessed. She thought she could act like that and stand her ground no matter what he said. She might even get loud if he said the wrong thing�so that people would wonder what a little kaffir girl had been doing in the privacy of his room at such an ungodly hour.
But just then, Golf flicked off the lights.

The room went black and she felt him grab her. His hands digging in to the plushness of her ass and his wet, dirty mouth kissing and biting against her neck and shoulders!

He panted: "Don't fight it, Zora."

One of his white fingers was plunging between the crack of her ass. Her panties, she felt, were being dragged off.

Her eyes bulged, swelling with tears, and she couldn't speak or make a sound---she was so shocked to be getting what she had thought she wanted. Not sex. But just man-woman attention from a man that she was infatuated by and supposedly wasn't good enough to have.

But she hadn't expected it to feel this disrespectful, this dirty, and yet intellectually, and by memory�she had known that it would.

Her mind told her to scream. To make him stop.

Men like Golf had kicked holes in her father's stomach and taken credit for the art that African people created. Men like Golf had called black mothers apes and taught little black boys to do the same. Men like Golf had raped little black girls and fully expected those little girls to behave as friends the very next day. Men like Golf knew about selfish greed. They knew all about people that were weaker than them.

You don't deserve this!, some voice inside Zorina seemed to be raging. But Noble was tearing her breasts loose now. Young and high they jiggled in his hands and got caught in his slobbering mouth! Zorina's dress stank already, she realized, and it was smudged and soiled and torn, and so she merely braced the cold air as it came off. Her soft, hot flesh instantly being dug into by what seemed like the hands of many. He hurt her privates by wetting his fingers in her lips.

He didn't guide her to the bed�he bent her naked ass down to the floor.

Zorina wanted to stop him, but she didn't have the courage to stop him. She could feel her mother's slap against her face and she didn't know if she was good enough to demand to be treated with affection and tenderness.

"Oh, you sweet dirty little bitch", he moaned in ecstasy as he licked her neck, slobbered her mouth and bit at her nipples like a dog pup fighting to get milk.

There was no mention of her smelling like sunshine.

His thick white dick (penis, prick) went up in her.

The pain of it shooting through her body and ripping the tight skin of her pink opening. She was already bleeding.

His hand stifled the scream and her tears poured down the sides of her face, but she kept her weeping restrained so that no one would come and see what Golf really thought of her or find out how worthless a stain she really was.

She closed her eyes and tried to leave her body. She tried, desperately, to pretend that it was the Kingish, beautiful actor Djimon Hansou isnide her. Her favorite cinema idol. Then she could like it and want it.

But her mind wasn't strong enough to create all that.

It was Golf Theron banging her dirty little coffee stain!

Worthless kaffir trash bitch! That's what she called herself. Dirty, nasty little worthless piece of nothing.

nigger bitch

Golf suddenly put his elbow in her mouth to brace the sound. Then he dramatically increased the swagger and the anxiousness of his beast-fucking.

The pain shot through Zorina's body and she could hear the rhythm of the black boys as they chanted, rooting Golf on, cheering: "Funk-train pussy stain�bang, bang, bang." You have to get the flow of a rapper and picture a cute South African girl with a plump, tight ass and say it faster: "Funk-trunk pussy stain�bang, bang, bang!"

Funk-trunk pussy stain�bang, bang, bang!

Golf jumped up off her!

His dick was all bloody and he was coming.

He shoved his penis into Zorina's wet face and shot off his wad with a fierce stifled groan.

His chest heaved with heavy breathing and his wet, hot sticky jism ran in her eyes and all down the sides of her face.

"Wash yourself off, Zora�I got to git me rest, eh."

Golf was exhausted.

As Zorina lay on the floor, she could not seem to pull herself from the fire this time. Her classmates' screaming seemed to form a kind of chorus to a lullaby. The cinders were hot, but cold, too�this time. Eve smiled at her and handed her the knife. Eve kissed her on the cheek.

The knife?

Zorina didn't remember there being a knife in her hand, but suddenly, there was�and she was floating through the hotel's corridors. As if suspended just above the plush carpet.

In one hand she held the knife�and in the other�Golf Theron's white dick and his pink hairy sack; all bloody.

That seemed awfully odd.

Ugly, too. The sound of Maritza's high pitched screams.

Zorina ran out of the hotel.

The police hadn't put the bullet between her eyes yet.

So she ran�freer than she'd ever been. Down to the street till she reached the docks. She stood there�staring out at the shiny black sea.

Beautiful ocean�becoming more and more of itself.

She didn't hear the sirens of the police automobiles.

No. She heard the drunk blues woman singing from America: "�that front porch�that's one dayyyn-jerus PLACE."

They called Zorina's name, so she turned around.

The gunshots sounded so far away; annoying.

So she turned back around.

She saw two people�walking on water! Walking right across the sea, swiftly coming towards her.

It was Jesus Christ with charcoal black Eve!

Coming to get her, she realized.

Jesus didn't look anything like the effeminate Christ that the whites always portrayed. He was tall and buff, dark like a Mexican or some other sexy latin breed of King�he had wet curly black hair and suave, sensuous bedroom eyes.

He reached out his hand to Zorina and said, "Don't be afraid of the way it feels�"

To her stunned surprise, she had already fallen into the water. But now Jesus Christ lifted her to her feet. She stood, quite astonished, atop the water's surface.

She and Eve embraced as tightly as long lost sisters!

"I hope you won't miss the fire", said Eve.

"I won't", said Zorina.

"We have a new life for you", said Nopopie, Zorina's father, as he stepped out of the fog�and into the moonlight. Zorina ran into his arms. She was so overjoyed!

"Oh, daddy", she cried. "Without a father, life is so hard!"

Then Jesus Christ, whose wet honey-bronzed chest stuck out like a shield of faith, asked her, "Do you have any last words before we leave this place?"

Zorina's eyes filled with tears, because for a moment, she felt human again. She thought of how some whites had often called black women mules. A mule is a small brown donkey that stinks and is considered ugly and used exclusively for servitude. A mule's stinking baby is called a mulatto.

"Yes�I do."

She turned and looked at the lights of the now crowded pier, legions of superior white faces around the ambulances, the fire brigades, South Africa's evil police.

From an irrevocable soul, Zora promised Jesus Christ: "The black woman�is the meteor..that is coming to this earth!"

Reproduced courtesy of the North Africa Book Exchange.

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