Free The Price of Hannah Blake by Walter Donway Page A

couldn’t last long, without fainting, no matter how much she wanted to. The last man came over to her; she says she could not have crawled to him. He kept pulling her head up shoving it down. Do you know what?”
    Hannah shook her head, gulping. “Myra says she was grateful to that man. He did it for her because he knew she was finished. She said her face felt aflame; she was sweating like she used to sweat, as a little girl, in the sugarcane field. With one hand, the man was squeezing her breasts, but she really didn’t notice.
    “She said she rolled onto the floor and tried to die. Nothing happened, although she yelled and pleaded with them. Said anything; she would do anything if they took it out. But they only watched…
    “Myra said she could not decide if the pain of lying there, dying, was better than the pain of getting to her feet. But she did; she got to her feet. She turned her back to the last man she had done, bent over, so she was opened wide, and kept saying, ‘Please, please, please…’
    They pulled it out. She said her bowels exploded, right then, standing right there. They were laughing. She collapsed, oil and shit firing out of her. She rolled and rolled, shrieking, but finally it was better. She was empty. The cramps still came, she said, and were worse than any pain she ever had before that day—but it was nothing.”
    “Oh, God, no. No,” whispered Hannah. “No.”
    “She thought they would rape she. She didn’t really care, she says. But they didn’t. Apparently, their orders were to break her, break her good and forever, and stop.
    “When they brought her and tossed her into her room, I went to her first. They hadn’t cleaned her up. There was dried cum around her lips; she smelled bad, too. I cleaned her up, then sat holding her, thinking she could cry, but she didn’t. She held back nothing of the story, I don’t think—what could there be? But she never speaks of what she thinks about how they hurt her. She’s one of the best, here. The duke loves plays about forcing women, but especially black women. She gets those roles. He asks for her, later—or gives her to a special guest. She never talks about it.”
    Hannah’s glance slid to Myra, who was rising, now. She was like a statue, straight, shoulders back, head erect. She had no expression, though, Hannah thought. Yet, her movements as she carried her tray were like the ease of a Devon pony frolicking in a pasture.
    A loud bell rang twice, and Hannah started. “That’s it,” said Charlotte. “Just finished in time. You’ll think about it, won’t you?”
    Hannah wondered how in her whole life, ever, she would forget a single image Charlotte’s words had conveyed. Now, for her whole life, she would know something worse, much worse, than anything she ever had imagined as a girl or young woman. It always would be there. If she had been less frightened, less stunned by the exploding scenes in her mind, she thought, she might have felt very sad because now she would be different.
    All around her was movement, talking, so she looked up. All of them were crowding through the door. She noticed Charlotte had taken both trays, and returned, frowning down at her. Charlotte said, “I’m telling you, as Myra told me.”
    When Hannah did not move, Charlotte started for the door. She looked back and said, “You aren’t starting already are you? Being late is a serious offense, here.”
    Hannah almost knocked over her chair, she stood up so quickly—stood up propelled by terror. She almost ran after Charlotte.

 
Chapter 10
“You Are a Little Beauty!”
    They were trotting along corridors, two dozen of them, ahead of her, talking, laughing. Hannah hurried after Charlotte, her only friend; and, once, Charlotte glanced back and smiled. They flocked down the stairs and into the dressing room and began pulling off their clothes. With only two garments, it didn’t take long. Trousers and blouses were flung onto hooks and Hannah was