so when did our love affair turn into an apprenticeship? I’m a leader myself, aren’t I?
ah, but is that really you? Nzinga challenged, often in the middle of the night when Dominique was desperate to sleep and they’d been arguing for hours and just when she nodded off, Nzinga would shake her awake and start making the same points again
what if you drop the tough girl act and just be?
what if you discover who you truly are deep down?
what if you allow yourself the luxury of being cared for – completely?
Dominique’s feelings were conflicted, Nzinga was still glorious, still magnificent, still the object of her passion, still someone she believed wanted the best for her, who’d rescued her from London
as she was often reminded
when things were good, Dominique felt the headiness of a love that really might last for ever
when they weren’t, she wondered what she was doing with someone who wanted to micro-manage her entire life, including her mind
why did Nzinga think being in love with her meant she had to give up her independence and submit completely?
wasn’t that being like a male chauvinist?
Dominique felt like an altered version of herself after a while, her mind foggy, emotions primal, senses heightened
she enjoyed the sex and affection – outside in the fields when summer arrived, wantonly naked in the heat, unworried about anyone coming across them, what Nzinga called Dominique’s sexual healing, as if she’d been suffering terribly when she met her
Dominique let it pass
she wanted to talk this through with friends, Amma most of all, or the women at Spirit Moon, she needed a sounding board, it wasn’t going to happen, Nzinga kept them at a distance, kicked up a fuss when Dominique made overtures of friendship to the women they worked with
she decided it wasn’t worth the hassle, and although she sent three letters to Amma, she never heard back when she did receive replies from her parents and siblings
was Amma still angry with her for leaving her and the company?
when she once suggested phoning her long distance from the post office in town, Nzinga sank into a terrible funk for days
it was a sign Dominique was rejecting her
who never mentioned it again.
5
Before arriving at Spirit Moon, Dominique had naïvely thought of housebuilding in purely romantic terms; she’d imagined her lean, long, much admired body becoming even more toned, supple and strong through using it as nature intended – working in the great outdoors, doing strenuous physical exercise, enjoying camaraderie with her co-workers, getting sweaty and dusty and looking forward to showering it off at the end of the day before sitting down to a hearty meal
work would be simple, vigorous and life-enhancing
well, it didn’t quite work out like that
having never lifted anything heavier than stage weights, she found eight-hour days of manual labour unbelievably gruelling, her joints ached and never had time to recover, her smooth, elegant hands blistered, lacerated and coarsened, even underneath protective gloves, and she had to wear a helmet that didn’t shield her face from the sun
she imagined herself down the line: practically crippled, calloused, with a face as craggy as an ancient fisherman
Dominique decided she wasn’t cut out for such work, unlike her co-workers who were built like brick-houses, including Nzinga
they were the butch ones, she was not, and even if she was (she’d never felt the need to categorize herself) it was clear American butches totally outclassed British butches in the Butch Universe
Dominique felt quite femme beside them
at the start of her second week on the job, she refused to get out of bed because her back felt like it was broken, yes, broken, she told Nzinga, looking tragic, doleful, tearful, until Nzinga promised her lighter duties cos I gotta look after my baby, don’t I?
thereafter Dominique’s duties involved minor jobs such as hammering nails, stapling insulation to timber frames, painting, decorating, and providing coffee and snacks several times a day
at home, Nzinga insisted on cleaning the log cabin herself, because she wanted to make sure it was as dust-mite free as possible
Dominique didn’t object, seeing as her idea of housework had always involved waving a feather duster-wand over various surfaces as she skipped around a room
Nzinga also insisted on doing all the cooking because she alone understood how to formulate the right nutritional balance for them to sustain perfect health, which Dominique wouldn’t have minded except Nzinga cooked without salt, which was banned from the house, and spices, which Nzinga said agitated both the stomach and the emotions
eating became both an unpleasant ordeal and a performance of enjoyment
Nzinga also washed Dominique’s clothes, by hand, because I am enslaved by my love for you, she said, in jest or perhaps not, in spite of Dominique’s protestations that she wanted to wash her own undies, especially the ones stained with menstrual blood
Dominique began to regret allowing Nzinga to do everything and make decisions for her
she started to yearn to do the housework herself, yearn to cook, to clean, to do a job that was more intellectually demanding
her life was becoming empty of purpose other than to love Nzinga unconditionally, and, increasingly, obey her
even the simplest things became a source of difficulty
was it really her fault men ogled her in town when she wore (knee-length) shorts and a (sleeveless) baggy tee-shirt
should she really have to cover up instead of being ‘provocatively dressed’ as Nzinga accused her
why should she wear her hair (usually a thick, wavy mixture of Afro and Indo) almost shaved to her scalp, cut by Nzinga herself with the barber’s clippers she bought for this very purpose?
why shouldn’t she have a chat with the gentle community baker, Tilley, when she went to collect bread in the mornings?
because the women who appear the nicest are the most passive aggressive and ultimately the most dangerous because they will come between us, don’t you realize that people want to sabotage our great love affair?
and why shouldn’t she read books by men that she’d picked up in the library in town?
you can’t live a womanist life and have male voices in your head, Sojourner
that doesn’t make sense, it’s taking things too far
why don’t you shut your goddam mouth
they were sitting up in bed, it was the early hours, again, Nzinga had been on her case about her past girlfriends for hours, she brought them up every so often, this time trying to convince Dominique they had been playthings who meant absolutely nothing to her
Dominique was fed up of convincing her that past girlfriends weren’t a threat to their present relationship, she’d already told her many times that the love she felt for a couple of them was nothing compared to what she felt for Nzinga, not realizing that to admit any kind of love for her exes was unacceptable
she wanted to leave the room, to sleep elsewhere in the cabin, or on the porch, anything to escape Nzinga’s droning voice; not possible, Nzinga would follow her out of the room and keep it up, sometimes until dawn
they were all white women, they were never going to stick around
I’m the one who left them, it was true, she was the dumper, never the dumpee
what I’m saying is, only a black woman can ever truly love a black woman
okay, I give in, I agree, let’s turn off the light and go to sleep
I don’t want you to give in, I want you to change, to understand my reasoning at a deeper level and accept it as the truth.
6
Almost a year to the day Dominique had arrived at Spirit Moon, there was a knock on the cabin door late one afternoon