resounding slap across the face. Everything went black again, this time with
exploding bursts of color. Olivia lay still before she began weeping. She wanted
to die. Iola had knocked the fight out of her with that second blow.
“I told you, no point making this harder than it already is. I don’t want to put
that sock in your mouth for you to choke on, but I will,” Iola said. She raised her
hand and struck Olivia a third time, though not as hard. Then she leaned over, her onion breath an inch from Olivia’s face, and put her hands on Olivia’s
shoulders, all of her weight crushing the young girl to the bed. “You’ll do as you’re told. You hear me? You’ll do as you’re told. You’re here and that’s the way things are. You can make it easy, or you can make it hard. Ain’t nothing going to happen to you don’t happen to every woman.”
“How can you do this?” Olivia whispered. “You’re supposed to be a
Christian. What would Jesus say?”
Filmore mumbled something and the terrified look Olivia saw pass over his
face gave her hope. He at least still seemed to possess a sense of shame. But Iola
drew a flask of whiskey from her deep pocket and handed it to her husband.
“Drink that, if you must,” she said. “And you.” She turned on Olivia. “Shame,
shame on you. You’re a fine one to call on our Lord Jesus. Prancing about half-
naked, living with that nigger boy and wearing his clothes, behaving like a
harlot. You’re lucky to have found your way to us. It was Jesus led you here, on
your path to redemption, to fulfill his will.”
Filmore put his head back and took a long swig of whiskey before Iola jerked
the flask from his hand. “Just get it done and over with,” she said. “Remember,
it’s God’s will you’re doing.”
Olivia thought she could see him struggling, seeking the courage to defy his
wife. But she watched in horror as the last remnants of his humanity drained away. She could see his mind cross over a line. There was no longer any Olivia,
that nice young woman he knew, his neighbor. There was no person at all. She
had been reduced to a helpless female body, totally at his mercy. He raised his eyebrows and slowly ran his tongue over his bottom lip.
Iola picked up her Bible, sat on the chair at Olivia’s side, and began reading
aloud – verses about being fruitful and multiplying. Helpless, Olivia tried to will
herself to lose consciousness. When Filmore laid his hands on her, she spoke quietly. “You know this is a sin. You know it.” He was motionless, staring
between her legs.
Iola’s voice droned on and Olivia began to feel faint. “Mamma,” she
mumbled. “I want my mamma.”
“Iola, go on outside,” Filmore said, his voice slurred.
“We agreed that I would be here.” She held the Bible out in front of her, but
her eyes were on Olivia. Now they shone with a sickening glint.
“I can’t do this with you sittin’ here watchin’.”
“Of course you can.”
He hesitated, but lay down on Olivia and began rubbing himself against her
nakedness. His ratty beard chafed against her neck and then she felt his thick, moist lips rub across her face. She gagged from the stink of him. He grew
heavier and heavier, until she couldn’t breathe. Then he lifted himself up and got
to his knees, pushing her legs apart to stare at her exposed genitals. Leaning back, he took a deep breath. When he reached forward to squeeze one of Olivia’s
breasts his wife reprimanded him. “There’s no call for that.” Olivia thought she
