Pynter Bender Read Online Free Page B

Samson wasn’ no long hair from hi head. But y’see, de Bible not a rude book. Missa Moses find another way to say it, an’ so dem call it hair. But I tellin y’all dat is not no dam hair dat she take ’way from dat Samson fella. Anyway, I spend eight months in jail forde damage I do Defoe and it would ha’ been longer – p’raps me whole life – if I wasn’ carryin proof o’ de liberty he take with me. I was six months pregnant wid dat man chile when I walk out o’ Edmund Hill Prison. I wasn’ going back home. I know dat from de time the warders open de gate and left me standin outside in the hot sun. I walk down dat road with a lil cloth bag in me hand and a coupla wuds in me head dat a man lef ’ with me almost a year before I got in trouble. You see, de time I was workin fo’ John Defoe, dis fella used to come buy dynamite becuz dat Béké man was de only one allow to sell it on de islan’. I used to watch ’im from de kitchen without ’im noticing. I s’pose ’twas because I never see a man like ’im before. Most times a fella come to Defoe he stay outside the gate. But this fella walk right in. He put hi hand on hi waist and look round him, like a surveyor. Big fella, strong fella – the kinda man God build to last.
    â€˜When he talk to Defoe he watch ’im straight in hi eye.
    â€˜He was there when I come out with de washing. He look at me like if he surprise. He look at me like if he jus’ make up hi mind ’bout something. It cross me mind dat for me to get to the clothes line I had to pass under dem eyes of his. Not only that, but I was wearing one o’ dem cotton dress without no sleeve, and for me to hang up dem clothes I had to stretch to reach de line. I didn like dat. I didn like no man making me feel so confuse without my permission. I was vex like hell. I look at ’im an’ tell ’im, “What de hell you looking at?” He look back at me like he more vex than me and say, “Tell me what you don’t want me to be looking at and mebbe I won’t look.” An’ den he laugh.’
    Deeka laughed out loud at the memory.
    â€˜I never hear man laugh so sweet. He start comin more regular for dynamite, till I got to thinkin that he mus’ be plannin to blow up de whole islan’ o’ someting. Missa Defoe get wise to ’im and start refusin to sell ’im any more dynamite. An’ den one day that Béké fella tell ’im straight, “Oi’m never going to sell you no more dynamite.”
    â€˜â€œI’ll come anyway,” John Seegal tell ’im.
    â€˜â€œThen Oi’ll have you arrested for trespassing, or shoot you moiy-self,” Defoe say.
    â€˜â€œMake sure you succeed first time you try,” my husband tell ’im back.
    â€˜Lord ha’ mercy, them words frighten me. Them frighten me to know dat I become a woman dat a man prepare to kill for. He keep comin like he promise. Used to stand up on the lil hill across the road an’ watch me. I never talk to ’im. But if I look up an’ he not ’cross dere, I start to sorta miss ’im. It last a coupla months till he couldn take it no more. One day he stay ’cross the road an’ call me. Was de kinda call dat make you know dat if you go, you was sayin yes to a question he didn ask you in the first place. Was like sayin, “I give in, I’z yours.” I never go. I should ha’ gone. I didn go. He call my name again an’ tell me if I didn come to ’im right now, he never comin back.
    â€˜â€œI tired holdin on,” he say. “You wearin me down,” he say. “Dat lil Béké man ’cross dere make it clear he want you for himself. I could break his arse as easy as I look at ’im but you have to give me reason. I won’t bother you no more. When you ready, you come to me.” He stay right across the road