Death by Chocolate

Southern pride reduced and degraded by death: the ultimate state of humility and equality. The story within shall be the grace and higher humanity of an enslaved man, known as “C”. The object of enviable joy and affection that can never be equaled by the Colonel - however much power or pride or wrath he inflicts upon his minions.

Days and years ago when the Colonel was young, he was the congenital inheritor of his father’s plantation. Even then, C was ever present to serve the youth’s whim. Though C tried to see the innocence in the child and round him out by showing kindness beyond the assumed toxic social hierarchy between slavers and slaves, the Colonel was spoiled into arrogance and belligerence by his bearers and forebearers.

It was a beautiful early afternoon and C was petting the estate dog, Mandy, as the young Colonel requested various lunch items. C loved dogs, they were always so congenial and happy.

“C, I am starving, stop petting that mangy mutt,” the young Colonel said impatiently with a jealous gaze between C and Mandy.

“Of course. Young master, can I interest you in a piece of chocolate cake?”

“Yes, give it to me,” the young Colonel said.

“Very well. Here you go,” C obliged by fetching and setting the small plate on the table as the boy began rifling down the cake.

“Another!” said the Colonel and C brought out another. This time a piece of cake fell from the table and Mandy ran up and ate it.

“Oh no. We mustn’t let that happen again. Dogs cannot eat Chocolate. They will die. It is poison to them,” C said, attempting to inform the boy - when suddenly, C caught a glance of something in the young Colonel’s eye. Something menacing and cruel. The young Colonel took the entire plate of cake and fed it to the dog with a smile. An hour later, Mandy had thrown up the cake. C came to find that every time he gave affection to Mandy in the Colonel’s presence, she would be sick within hours. This broke C’s heart as eventually Mandy never came near C, out of fear of being sick. It became clear to C that the Colonel’s jealousy was virulent.

As a man, the Colonel wore an air of prestige, and, as his name implies, he became a Colonel in the Southern military during the civil war. His social clubs and slaves showed him respect to his face, but not a living soul truly loved the Colonel, save himself. Though that may not be all true, for C still held hope that he would one day see the error in his ways. Though less optimistic souls knew better. Oftentimes the Colonel would meditate and relieve his stresses by berating, verbally or physically, anyone who dared cross opinions with him.

C lived in a humble home just to the west of the Colonel’s mansion. Each morning C would rise before his duties began and visit the other slaves whom he thought of as a family and who saw him as their caretaker. Little restless children would be up and about at this early hour begging their tired fathers to play with them. C knew the strain of a working slave well though he’d been on lighter duties for some years now, so he would often play with the children to give their fathers a few more winks of sleep.

They’d often ask, “C, C, C! What is your name short for?”

“One day you’ll see!” he jest back at them. Only a close few knew what his name truly stood for.

On a night with no moon, C remembered he forgot a chore regarding the horses in the barn. He set out across the field admiring the wonder of the stars without the moon to soak up all the attention. Eventually he made it to the barn and noticed a curiously human sound - nay, two humans. He had been young once. He knew how exciting barns could be in the right circumstances, but he also was weary of the Colonel’s fury. He opened the barn door to shew away the love birds when all to his surprise he found the Colonel’s wife, Anna, and a slave woman, Hanna, whom he would often have lunch with. Both women, frightened to death and scurrying to reinstate their common images, rose and fled from the barn. Anna stopped to speak with C and said,

“C, I trust that what you saw here tonight will remain as clandestine as the city of Atlantis - for both of our sakes.”

“Just here to oil the tack and saddle madam. Your secret’s safe with me.”

“Thank you C,” Anna said with relief. “I appreciate your unwavering grace. If the Colonel had a drop of the moral fiber you possess...”

“There’s no need for such comparisons Mrs. Anna, but why not go? Why not be free to be who your heart desires.” He said while motioning towards Hanna leaving towards her home. “Lord knows I would, given the chance.”

“Though I am not bound by writ of law like you, I am still bound by the wrath of my husband. He is a jealous man, and obviously cannot tell a julep from a whiskey,” she said, mimicking C’s gesture towards Hanna.

“Mhm. I see. And women don’t usually drink whiskey ‘round these parts, or any parts for that matter. At least they don’t brag about it if they do.” Then C leaned in closer and said, “Just between you and me, when the Colonel was a boy, he loved to wear make-up and play dress-up with his sisters. His father beat it out of him of course.”

“That would explain a great deal. I am long for bed C. I will see you tomorrow. Goodnight,” then she turned and strode away.

“Goodnight madam Anna”

Anna quietly snuck in through the back door of the house and made her way to the staircase. She could smell the Colonel’s cigar coming from his study. The study’s door was at the end of the staircase. He would often spend all night in there pacing about. When she started making her way up the steps, she heard the door knob twisting behind her, and she spun about.

“Anna, my dear, what are you doing up so late?”

“Oh I’m just coming down for something to drink. My throat is very dry tonight.”

“You’re still wearing your dress?” the Colonel questioned.

“Oh yes, I dozed off in it while reading.”

“Ah I see. Well let me kiss you goodnight then.”

Anna came down the steps and put her arms around her husband and gave him a routine kiss. Then they smiled at each other. Anna thought she could see something dark and faint in his eyes, but he just smiled and reentered his study. Anna got a glass of water and went to bed.

The next morning C awoke to the sound of a gunshot. He pulled on his clothes and ran out towards the origin of the sound and came across an unsightly scene. Two slave men, Kitch and Andre, were lined up on their knees near the area of the property where carpentry usually took place. One man, Grafton, had already been slain by the Colonel’s rage. The Colonel was holding Anna by the hair interrogating her.

“I’ve seen you talking with these ones. I know you sneak off at night to the barn. I can smell it in your breath. Now which one of them was it? Was it him?” The Colonel pointed to Andre.

Anna was crying, screaming “Neither!” and shaking her head at each of the questions.

C saw the look in the Colonel’s eye and knew what would come next. He ran as fast as his old body would allow, but was too late.

“Hmm well if it isn’t either of them, it must be both of them,” said the Colonel, and shot the two remaining men one at a time.

C arrived and fell to his knees just in front of the murdered and held them to his chest weeping. How could he have allowed this. Why had he given the Colonel so many chances? At what cost did his grace come at?

“Oh and here’s the leader of the lot. Good ol’ C. Why don’t you go ahead and bury those bodies for me C.”

In the corner of C’s eye he could see a carpenter’s knife laying in the grass. He slowly set down Kitch and Andre and moved his hand towards the knife.

“Actually, on second thought,” the Colonel said, dropping Anna’s hair then moving towards C. “Maybe you know who the Mrs. has been sneaking off with”

C’s fingers felt the wooden hilt of the blade as the Colonel’s shadow felt the edge of C’s hand.

“Maybe it was you,” the Colonel carved the words with his tongue as he pointed his five-shot Colt at the back of C’s head.

C grabbed the knife and swung it around, slicing the Colonel’s hand that fired the gun into C’s shoulder. The Colonel dropped the gun screaming in agony at the sight of his severed fingers. C grimaced at the pain in his shoulder. He knew his shoulder bone was shattered like fine china, but he also knew that he didn’t have much time. He gathered his wits, stood, and marched towards the writhing Colonel.

“How dare you cut my fingers off, you bastard! After everything I’ve done for you,” the Colonel whined.

“Well let me do you one last service,” C said as he grabbed the Colonel’s mouth between his fingers and cut out his tongue. The Colonel gurgled and rolled about in pain as C stared for a while. He then went to see if any of the slaves watching from afar were hurt. Luckily everyone else was unharmed. Finally he walked over to Anna and knelt down.

“Go. Get out of here and be free. I’ll deal with - “ a gunshot rang out. The Colonel, with blood running down his face, had used his fifth and last round to shoot C through the back of the heart. C looked down at his chest as a bloom of blood expanded like a pebble dropped in a pond, then he looked back up and smiled as he felt the light leave his eyes. He fell over dead into Anna’s lap.

The Colonel laughed a horrendous and wet laugh while fighting not to drown in his own blood. He stood and tried to say something but nothing intelligible came out other than his palpable frustration. Anna, looking down with a hand on C, tilted her head up and looked at her husband with a portrait of pure indifference. He tried to grab her by the hair again, but she swatted his hand away over and over again. When he tried a final time, a large strong hand grabbed his own, then another. Then a pair of knuckles wrapped around his shoulders.

The Colonel was beaten senseless and torn to pieces by those he abused and berated and enslaved for all his life.

Anna and Hanna walked through the estate together under a bower of oak trees until they came across a set of graves. Many were humble slave’s graves save for one at the end of the row that stood out as stone above the rest.

Here lies Chocolate “C” Williams - beloved caretaker and freer of his people and his masters. May he rest in peace.

Mandy came and lay beside the stone. The women laid flowers upon the grave as well as a bottle of whiskey. They said a few of their own private thank yous and bid Chocolate goodbye.

In truth, Chocolate’s grave wasn’t the last in the row. There was an unmarked dirt pile just to the left of Chocolate’s site. And there the Colonel will rest in death by Chocolate. In pieces, without wake, and forgotten.