The Professor Day 04: Slavery

The Professor

Recap: Molly has approached her former professor on whom she has a deep crush. They exchange stories to explore their fantasies and philosophies as he attempts to rein in her emotions.

Monday, Day 4 Slavery

The next evening, she stood before his desk and read her latest story. "I hope this will be better than your student's paper."

Slavery

August

Renee entered the woods and sprinted between the trees. Running had become her freedom. Now that she was home from college for the summer, it was a guilt-free chance to get away from the family squabbles in their crowded house. She had grown up in this country town in the Mississippi countryside and hated it. Fortunately, she did not have to run very far to escape the hard-scrabble neighborhood and get away from people. This path ran for three miles in the seclusion of nature. There were only a few houses in the area and on a given morning she did not see a soul. She had been here a hundred times and it never grew old.

She jumped the creek and rounded the bend. She felt she could do this in her sleep. Up ahead was a narrow gravel drive to a crumbling garage. She glanced at a little-used drive to a fenced yard. Nothing but moss-draped pines for the next . . ." She stopped.

Up ahead was a dog. She hated dogs. All the dogs in her neighborhood were trained to defend their yards and attack strangers, and this one was on the loose. It lowered its head and growled at her. She stood as still as she could as it approached menacingly. She could not outrun it and looked for a tree to climb. Her eye caught movement behind her. Another dog on the trail. This one barked once and both closed in. They seemed to be working together. She couldn't go forwards or back on the trail, so she backed cautiously onto the gravel drive. They followed, keeping their distance, but maintaining that threatening growl. One was to the right, one to the left.

She kept backing up and saw that she had come through an open gate inside the fence. She wished she could close it, but it was too late.

"Come up on the porch, slowly, you'll be all right." She glanced over her shoulder and saw a man sitting in a porch chair about 20 feet behind her. He was simply watching, not interested in taking part. She kept backing up.

"Those your dogs, Mister? Call them off."

"They won't hurt you if you move slowly. There. Now come up the steps."

Three steps -- one, two three. She relaxed, safe by the man. But the dogs continued to approach. She looked around. The only escape was through the open door into the house. "Mister, help me!" He didn't move. As the dogs came up the steps, she entered the house and tried to shut the door, but it was wedged open. The dogs were on the porch now.

Renee panicked. She turned and ran up the stairs. Her foot slipped and she stumbled near the top step. As she regained her footing, she heard barking and the scratching of claws on the wooden steps beneath her. At the top, there was a closed door on the left and an open door on the right. The first was locked so she ran into the other room. It was mostly empty except for a large cage in the middle. She heard the dogs at the top of the stairs and climbed into the cage, pulling the door closed behind her so that it latched. Now the dogs entered the room, barking; but for the moment she was safe. The bars were too narrowly spaced for them to enter. She tried to calm herself and catch her breath.

The dogs returned to their low growls. A heavy tread told her the man was coming up. Finally.

"Looks like you and dogs don't get along that well, don't it? Well, they never did like niggers."

"Please mister, call them off."

"Sit," he said sternly, and the dogs quieted down. He stepped to the door of the cage and attached a heavy padlock to the latch. "Now you're safe. Come on boys, let's go outside." The dogs ran ahead of him as he went downstairs.

Renee tried to comprehend what just happened. She was locked in a cage in a backwoods cabin. Was that an accident? No. Clearly that was the man's plan. Did he train the dogs to do that? What was he going to do?

It was nearly silent except for unintelligible strands of his voice in the yard talking to the dogs. She took stock of her situation. The door was securely locked. She could not force it. The cage was about six feet high, six feet wide and a little longer, maybe eight feet. It was empty except for a stained mattress on the floor, a dented saucepan and a lid. The bottom was thick wooden planking. The bars appeared to be made of steel, about three quarters of an inch thick. The spacing between them allowed her to extend her arm out of the cage up to her shoulder. The top of the cage had the same construction and the bars were welded together.

The cage was at least five feet from the nearest wall, beyond her reach. The windows on three walls of the room were covered with old shutters. There were enough broken slats to light the room, but she could not see the outside from where she was. Along the walls, also out of reach, were an old dresser, a chair and a couple of chests. All looked like junk in need of refinishing. Next to the door where she entered, was another door, to a closet, perhaps. At the far end, opposite the stairs was a curious frame in the shape of an X, about five feet high. The floor was surprisingly clean, given the dilapidated state of its furnishings. She realized that this set-up had been carefully planned. Was it specifically for her? Was she just a chance victim? Or was she merely his next victim?

She heard him reenter the house and shut the door, but that was followed by hours of silence. The waiting was unbearable. She thought of her mother and siblings. How long would it be before they noticed she was gone? Would she still be alive then? What would happen if the sheriff came looking for her? Would she know? Could she shout loud enough for him to hear her? She wouldn't be able to see his car; she would just have to listen. How would she know it was him? She lay on the mattress because there was nothing else to do, and waited.

She could tell by the changing shadows that it was late afternoon when he came up the stairs again. He carried a heavy board into the room and set it by the doorway without a glance in her direction. From his belt, he drew a hammer and handful of large nails. The board fit neatly into the doorway and he began to nail it in place from the inside.

Watching him work allowed her to study him for the first time. He was white, about 50 with graying hair. He was bigger and obviously stronger than she - maybe six-two to her slight 5-foot 5 frame. He did not look like a crazed redneck sociopath. There was something disturbingly normal, even disciplined about him. He could be a professional, or anything. Or a plantation owner. He seemed intelligent, with every detail thought out in advance. It was that fact that scared her so. She could not rely on his stupidity to escape.

Methodically he placed nails around the three sides of the door frame. It occurred to her that he was just now blocking up the doorway, so he had probably not had other prisoners. Maybe this was just for her. She wasn't sure whether that made it better or worse. The man picked up his tools and left through the other door. It seemed to lead into a small closet, but it must connect to the other room with the locked door. What was the point of this? It meant that a casual visitor to the upstairs would see only a boarded up doorway without a handle and not suspect there was a prison with a black girl in here. It meant that even if she screamed at the top of her lungs it was unlikely that anyone downstairs would hear her.

As the light faded he entered through the remaining door and flicked a switch. A bare bulb hanging from the ceiling directly above her cage momentarily blinded her. He sat in the chair and looked at her.

She let her eyes adjust and looked back. Finally she couldn't stand it. "What do you want from me?"

"It's very simple, really. I need a housekeeper. You're a nigger. This is your role in life. Keep my house clean, cook my meals, warm my bed, and don't cause any trouble and I will treat you nice. Step out of line and I will punish you. It's your choice. You hungry?"

She was starving, but refused to admit it. She kept silent. He rose and left the room.

After a while he returned with a plate of food, cup of water, and a spoon. He placed it on the floor beside her cage. "This one's on me. After that, you'll have to earn it." She said nothing and stayed where she was on the mattress.

He opened a chest and brought out a roll of toilet paper, a gallon jug of water, and a clean rag. He set them next to the cage, within her reach. He added a larger pot with a tight-fitting lid. "Use the smaller pan for a toilet, if you need to go when you are here. Put your dirty dishes in this one. We don't want to feed any vermin up here. You can clean the dishes and the chamber pot tomorrow." He opened a drawer in the dresser and lifted out a blanket. He pushed that through the cage and let it drop beside the mattress. He waited a while longer, but she neither moved nor spoke. "Maybe tomorrow you will decide to be more sociable. I will leave the light on a while longer so you can eat."

As soon as he left she crawled over to the food. She quickly downed the water and refilled her cup. The day had been hot. With her run in the morning and nothing to drink all day, she was feeling dehydrated. She looked at the plate of food. Green beans, stew of some kind, and two slices of bread. The plate would not fit between the bars, and if she tipped it, the food would spill off. She lay down on her stomach, her face as close to the bars as possible. By reaching out through the cage, she could spoon in into her mouth. It was awkward and she felt like an animal, but she was ravenous.

It did not take long to finish eating and put the dishes in the pot. Keep my house clean, cook my meals, warm my bed. Shit. Well, nothing to be done right now. She took off her shoes and shook out the blanket. It was worn, with a couple of holes, but it was clean.

The light went out. She lay down to sleep.

Footsteps on the stairs announced the man's return in the morning. She lay on the mattress and looked at him as he stood beside the cage.

"Some rules. First, whenever I am in this room you will stand. Is that understood?"

She pushed aside the blanket and rose to her feet. This was not the time to challenge him.

"Is that understood?"

She nodded.

"Answer me."

"Yes."

"Say 'Yes, Master.'"

"Yes, Master."

"Take your clothes off."

She hesitated.

He raised his voice. "I said take your clothes off."

"I heard you." She pulled her T-third over her head.

"Don't sass me, Girl."

"I wasn't."

"Say 'Yes, Master.'"

"Yes, Master."

"Take them off."

She pulled down her running shorts and stepped out of them. She removed her socks. She looked up at him.

"All of them."

She took off her panties and running bra and dropped them on the floor. Now she stood before him naked.

"Roll them in a bundle and give them to me. The shoes, too."

She did as she was told.

"Whenever you leave this room, you will be wearing this ankle chain." He dropped a set of shackles on the floor of the cage. "You are not going to try to run off. You can't outrun my dogs. Especially not with these."

She picked up the shackles. They were crudely made of heavy iron cuffs that would lock around her ankles without a key. They weighted about five pounds.

"Put them on."

She locked them in place.

"Put these on your wrists." He tossed in two cuffs of thick multi-layered leather. She locked each one around a wrist.

When she was done, he opened her cage door. When she stepped out, he took her arm firmly and pushed her toward the frame at the end of room. His grip was strong and rough and she stumbled in the shackles. She knew she could not fight with him. He pushed her against the X. He took her right hand and attached the cuff to one arm of the frame, then the left arm. He unlocked one of the ankle cuffs so that he could spread her legs and attach them to the lower arms of the frame. This left her spread-eagled in an upright position, face into the wall, and unable to move.

From the chest he took out a bullwhip. "You have to break in an animal right from the beginning so it knows what to expect if it disobeys. I don't ever want to hear any of your sass again. Understand?"

"Yes, Master."

"I didn't hear you."

"Yes Master", she said louder.

Then came the first blow. It landed like a fist across her back, but as the initial shock faded, she could feel a sting all along the welt it would create. She gritted her teeth. The second blow made her gasp. He struck her three more times and she struggled not to cry out.

"You enjoying this, Girl?"

"No, Master."

Two more blows. "What are you learning from it?"

That you're a sadistic bastard. "That you are strong and I am helpless. Master."

"That's good." He landed several more blows. "What else?"

"That I will not talk back to you again."

He put down the whip. "I'm letting you off easy because I don't want to have to mess with no doctors. This is your first work day. This does not have to happen again. Ever. All you have to do is obey me and not try to escape. You know what I am going to do with your clothes?"

"No, Master."

"I will give them to the dogs. They're real smart. You saw how well they herded you into this house. They weren't going to hurt you because I didn't tell them to. But once they learn your scent, they will be able to track you down if you ever try to run. And I will train them to attack your smell and kill you of ever they get the chance. Understand?"

"Yes, Master."

"Don't ever try to walk out the door."

"No, Master."

He picked up the clothes and carried them downstairs.

Renee was still strapped onto the frame, her back aching and bruised. When the man finally released her, he reattached her shackle and gave her a short-sleeved nightshirt to put on. It reached to the tops of her thighs. He added a lighter chain between her wrists and led her downstairs.

The main floor was in sharp contrast to the neglected appearance of the outside of the house and the deserted second floor. The wallpaper was attractive and the furniture a mixture of what looked to her like expensive antiques and stylish new pieces. He briefly walked her around to tell her her duties. There was a living room, a formal dining room, and four bedrooms. The study door was locked and she was forbidden to enter except when he was present. She was to clean the bathrooms and kitchen daily, and maintain the other rooms free of dust, and prepare meals. As she walked around she could see the dogs loose in the fenced-in yard. And she noted there was no telephone unless there was one in the study.

"Now go get your dinner dishes and chamber pot and clean them. Then you can start on the rest of the house. When you are done, let me know and you may take a shower."

"Yes, Master."

At the end of the day, she stood while he ate his dinner alone at the dining table.

"You know, he said, you're lucky. Plantation slaves had it hard. But you're a housegirl. They were the favored ones, the ones who got to sleep with the Master.

February

Benjamin Coddington III took his accustomed chair at the accustomed table in his club. It was five minutes to eight and his companions should show up any second. The waitress saw him enter and hurried over.

"Evening Mr. Coddington. The usual?"

"Yes, thank you, Emma."

She went to the bar to fetch his whiskey sour. Ben considered himself a conservative man of order and habits. He didn't have to work. His family had owned a sugar mill until the 1960s. They sold it just before the market collapsed. Between their accumulated wealth and the proceeds from that sale, Ben inherited a small fortune and was able to live comfortably on investments. He preferred to live modestly, and never traveled much. He considered himself a survival of a rare breed -- the southern gentleman.

Wilson Baxter was the next to arrive. He was a lawyer, the other unmarried member of the party. The two of them had spent many weekends together hunting deer in the swamps. Within the next ten minutes, the rest of the party arrived. Carter Appleton, the third member, was divorced. He was a developer, recently negotiating to open another strip mall on the by-pass. The youngest member, James Waterson, was the only married man among them. He was an accountant for the local bank. The four friends met every Wednesday evening for dinner. Ben hadn't missed a night for more than seven years.

Tonight they made the usual small talk, about the pennant race, local politics, and the upcoming football season. By the time the pie arrived, they had all had a few drinks and were well into their favorite subject, refighting the Civil War. Carter was convinced the South was betrayed by England and France when they refused to intervene. James believed the war was lost when Lee decided to fight at Gettysburg. Wilson decried the barbarianism of Grant and Sherman when they decided to pursue total war. "And we haven't recovered since." That launched them onto a new topic: who was responsible for the failure of Reconstruction. James blamed the damned carpetbaggers. Carter laid it on the shoulders of the vengeful Republican Congress. And Wilson came back to the economic destruction caused by Sherman.

"Ben, you're pretty silent tonight," said James. "What are you thinking?"

"You are all wrong, he answered quietly. We destroyed it ourselves."

"What are you talking about?" interjected Wilson.

"Slavery. Slavery destroys a man's soul." That grabbed their attention for a moment because it was a subject they usually tried to avoid. "A man cannot be a gentleman if he owns slaves."

"The war wasn't about slavery. It was about states' rights," Wilson insisted.

"That's not what I'm saying. The South was doomed because the integrity of the aristocracy was corrupted by slavery."

Now all three started arguing at once. His argument was heresy; he was a traitor to his class.

Ben kept is voice low. "Regardless of the war, we can't deny that slave owners beat their slaves, executed them, raped them, and split families."

"But they had to. The economic system required maintaining control of the labor. Besides, standards were different back then."

Ben turned to Carter. "Different back then? Whipping and rape were acceptable?"

"To Negros. We wouldn't condone it now, of course; but it was different then."

"Did planters rape their slaves because the standards were lower, or were the standards lower because they owned slaves."

"What are you saying, Ben?"

"Owning a slave changes a man. It takes away his humanity."

"You can't say that. What evidence do you have?"

"I can prove it to you." He pulled his wallet out of his pocket and produced three one hundred dollar bills. I'll bet you each one hundred dollars I can make you agree with me."

James, Carter, and Wilson looked at one another. James spoke up. "How are you going to do that?"

"Is the bet on?"

"There's money on the table."

"Who's going to judge whether we agree with you or not?"

Ben looked at each of them. "You are all men of honor. Each of you can decide for yourselves."

"You're serious?"

"Perfectly."

"You are on. Convince us."

"Next Wednesday, come to my house for dinner. Usual time. Give me 24 hours to convince you. If I do, you owe me one hundred dollars. If not, well, here is my stake."

"Sounds like easy money to me."