“It’s too hot for coffee—I’m not hungry—Tell me now.”
“Drink it fur Mammy, boy—I wants de grouns. I’m gwine tell ye somefin when I looks in de cup. I seed a vision las’ night.”
To humour her John drank the coffee in silence. She took the empty cup, studied its message, and looked into John’s face.
“Yes, honey, hit’s des lak I see hit las’ night, an’ I warns ye! I see two purty gals—a fair one and a dark one. Bof lubs ye—but dey’s one er slippin up behind yer back wid a shinin’ knife in her hand. Her long black hair is hangin’ loose on her white shoulders an’ all twisted lak snakes. I see her hide de knife in her bosom an’ slip her arms roun’ yo neck. She kiss you an’ blindfold ye wid her curly hair an’ slip de knife from her bosom an’ stab you froo de heart! Mammy’s baby! Mammy’s baby!”
The black woman’s voice sank to a weird whisper full of tears and ‘wild half-savage music as she seized John’s hand.
“Don’t come to de house no mo,’ Marse John!” she pleaded.
“And why not?” he asked sharply.
“Case I look again in de vision an’ I see her face plain—an’ it wuz hers!”
“Whose?”
“Miss Stella, honey—I warns ye! she doan lub my baby—keep away from her!”