Kindred

by Octavia E. Butler

“The ease. Us, the children … I never realized how easily people could be trained to accept slavery.”

“So you’ll be rid of the man and have possession of the woman just as you wanted,” I said with disgust. “Rape rewarded.” He turned his head toward me and peered at me through swollen eyes. “I begged her not to go with him,” he said quietly. “Do you hear me, I begged her!” I said nothing. I was beginning to realize that he loved the woman—to her misfortune. There was no shame in raping a black woman, but there could be shame in loving one.

I tore the book into several pieces and threw it onto the hot coals in his fireplace. The fire flared up and swallowed the dry paper, and I found my thoughts shifting to Nazi book burnings. Repressive societies always seemed to understand the danger of “wrong” ideas.