I wept, wept for her painand her terror. I wept for my own terrible appetites. It was like a dream, that Eliza hadbeen sent to me thus. I must be good to this woman. I must be good to this woman. I mustbe good to this woman. I chanted to myself like the monk my mother had once wished me to become,drying Eliza, finally dressing her in an old cream nightshirt of mine. Shehad come to me for sanctuary. But had she come to me because we had once, whenwe were scarcely more than children, read the manuscript together? + I didn't sleep. I must be good to this woman . Andyet on a magic lantern show in a corner of my imagination, strange tableauxappeared, like hallucinations, like visitations from a devilish kind of god.I saw her whipped. I saw her burnt, tormented. I felt my own guilty pleasure. I listened for her. I raised the flap to the cellar steps and heard nothing.Once, the stertorous sound of her breathing. It wasn't yet light when I finally warmed some more broth and went down toher. I was glad that Julie didn't have to witness this little scene in the parking lot. It took me a good hour to fall asleep as I grew worried about this young black stud's sudden appearance within our condo.But, this would be just the beginning of the weekend introduction of the new black resident and his impact on both us and our neighbors. The next few days of this extended 4 day holiday weekend would become an overwhelming source of visual humiliation for all 13 of us white husbands in the condo association. In turn, it seemed to become more like a source of tremendous curiosity and visual stimulation for the 13 white wives, who as typically happens, shared their own experiences with Tra’mon with one another.Yes, by the end if the holiday Tra’mon managed to pay a visit with each couple and when he was finished introducing each of them he helped steer all of us into a new lifestyle, one with was both sexually very pleasurable as well as socially liberating. That next morning was.
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