It was Monsieur, the man who had killed her mother.
He turned around and she immediately fixed her eyes on the floor. She could not bear to look.
A woman’s voice spoke weakly, “Come forward.” Abeje raised her eyes to the bedstead. Madame sat beside it in a chair, holding the hand of the child who was sunk in a feverish sleep. She approached them and knelt down. A wave of dizziness spun Abeje around. Monsieur and Madame had three nearly-grown daughters and this was their only son, seven or eight years old. She saw his pale, damp hair, greyish skin, the rapid breathing and distended belly, and knew that he would die very soon if she did not do something.
Hatred flooded her. She dared to glance toward him. He again faced away, looking out the window. She saw in the slope of his shoulders that he had been awake the whole night before. She knew without seeing that his eyes were red, and that he feared now more than he had ever feared for anything in his life.
As Abeje struggled, she felt the presence of Anaya. In her mind’s eye there appeared several heart-shaped leaves, and she heard the familiar song. She drew a deep breath and steadied herself. She saw better now and looked at the boy. He had drunk some bad water, that was clear enough, and he wanted to live.
There was no time to go to the Grove and search for plants, no time to make tea or paste. She would have to call their spirits only. Abeje leaned forward, laid her hands on the boy’s belly, and began to sing quietly, a calling song. The threads of light danced around her fingers.
But the heat that rose from her hands did not penetrate the boy’s body easily. A heavy shadow lay between the child and herself. Abeje called on another plant, a vine with tiny thorns that behaved like an axe, severing poisons that stuck to a body. But the shadow resisted, repelling the vine’s advances.
Sweat broke over Abeje’s brow. She reached for the boy’s hand, feeling his limp fingers. Something in him needed waking. She bent to place her ear on his chest. A voice lay over the beating organ, a shrill keen that she recognized as the birth cry of his mother. Something in his birth that had made him weak, something that had not shown itself until now.
Abeje looked up at the woman, Madame, sitting helplessly at the bedside.
“Mam,” she said, “if it please, would you hold him?”
Madame assented readily, leaning forward to lift the child to her lap, who whimpered with pain. Monsieur crossed the room to assist his wife. When he withdrew Abeje stepped around the bedstead, lifted by a sudden energy that ignited her tired limbs. She saw clearly now, even with her eyes open, that a little taut string pulled the child’s heart on one end and snagged his mother’s rib on the other, and Abeje had only to pluck it out. She did this with a small movement so swift it only appeared that she stumbled over the hem of her skirt. She flung the string away and the hanging shadow dissolved.
The child’s breathing changed, becoming deep and even. Abeje pressed her ear against his back to hear his heart again; the beats came stronger. She stood and backed up a pace.
“He will be alright now.”
Madame gazed at the child in her arms, nodding absently in reply. She didn’t know if it were true.
Zara took Abeje back outside.
Walking away from the Great House Abeje took a fresh breath. The sky was clear, with the wind whipping away any traces of clouds. The palm trees bent in relief. If the boy survived, her place on the sugar estate would be all but secured, such as Adunbi’s was now.
That evening Lise and Karine came down to the Quarters carrying a whole sack of meal, a large slab of hard bacon wrapped in a cloth, and a pail of dried peas. They said the boy’s fever had broken, that he sat up and took a bowl of soup and asked for his tin soldiers. They said Madame was so overjoyed she bade them to bring the food down to Marie.
There was very little to eat in the Quarters still, and though Abeje hungered, her heart was clear. The women took the bacon and peas and divided them among the largest cooking pots, to make a thick soup. Adunbi and the others, even the children, mixed the meal with water and salt, and made cakes to cook in the coals. All ate well that night.
* * *
It was another New Year’s Day and a prosperous time for Monsieur. The great hurricane was now more than ten years past, and because there was trouble on some of the other islands in the Sea, he got a high price for his sugar. As a child Abeje thought sugar was made by mixing sugar cane with the bodies of the people, because so many died or were maimed in the sugar works. She knew now it was the dead soul of the cane. Just as salt lived in the sea, and could be drawn out, so they drew out sugar from the plants. It was a stolen spirit, and was dear to the people in France, and in other countries where they were in need of souls.
Though the prosperity did not touch the lives of the people directly, it did mean that this New Year’s Day none of them left in a wagon bound for the auction house. Instead a wagon arrived that night bringing two men and a young woman. Adunbi greeted the newcomers and brought them to sit at their cooking fire. The newcomers had a bucket of yams from the Great House cellar, as rations would not be distributed for another two or three days. While the yams roasted, many of the people came to speak to the two men and the girl. Where did they come from? What news, if any, might be known, from other places?
The young woman was called Olivie, and she was eighteen or nineteen years of age. She was a beautiful girl, one could see that even in the dark of the night, though in her large eyes one also saw terror. She relaxed some as the people came by and she saw they meant her no harm. But the fear lay very deeply in her, like the bed of a river beneath the water. Abeje sat beside her, gently took her hand, placed her other hand on top of Olivie’s delicate fingers, and silently began a healing. One spirit, the ancient Baobab tree, came forward for Olivie. Abeje was amazed. Baobab was a great matriarch, the Mother of many mothers. She could envelop all of this girl’s life, all of her spirit. The presence of the tree spirit flowed through Abeje’s hand into the girl’s. Olivie leaned against her then, and soon fell asleep.
Olivie was sent up with Karine to work at laundering in the Great House. She slept in a hut with several other women and children, and Abeje and Adunbi invited her to share their cooking fire. She came from another estate across the Island, and before that lived on yet another, which was the place she last saw her mother.
She had a shy but lovely smile, fine limbs and graceful movements. As the weeks and months went by, Abeje noticed a change come over her brother. He gazed at Olivie when she was not looking, and when she caught him looking they both laughed. His voice rose and fell playfully when they spoke, and he asked her questions with tenderness. He sang when going off to his work.
When, after a long day, his heart leapt at the sight of her, Abeje felt this new joy as well. Now and then Abeje held Olivie’s hand at the fire, so that Mother Baobab would come to visit her.
One day Adunbi said to Abeje in confidence, “Sister, I want now to take a wife.”
“A wife!” she cried, “Who, Adu?”
He smiled and said, “Olivie.”
“Olivie?” whispered Abeje, pretending great shock. He laughed a big laugh then, because of course she knew, and because he was brimming with new love.
Abeje was very proud of her brother and knew he would make a fine husband, even if all this was a fragile business, since when it came to buying and selling people, Monsieur did not concern himself with questions of marriage. The thing that made Abeje more uneasy was that she felt Olivie’s spirit to be light, like a butterfly, even with Mother Baobab, so strong and rooted, as her protector. It helped to see Olivie smile so when she saw Adunbi, and Abeje looked forward to when Adunbi would ask her to be his bride.
Abeje had a length of white cloth from Floria. She and the carpenter had three children now, and Abeje had assisted them all through illnesses. She gave this cloth to Olivie so she could make a dress. Olivie put her arms about Abeje and whispered, “Thank you, Beje.” And Abeje said she must now call her Sister. O
livie was very happy. She loved Adunbi very much.
Two Sundays hence all the people rose at first light and gathered together around a large cooking fire. First the women began singing, “Guillaume Adunbi, Guillaume Adunbi!”
“Come forward now!” the men sang in answer.
“Guillaume Adunbi, Guillaume Adunbi!”
“Come forward now!”
Adunbi stepped forward, into the center of the circle before the fire.
“Olivie, Olivie!” sang the women.
“Come forward now!” answered the men.
Olivie went forward, in her pure white dress, and stood beside Adunbi. The new sun shone on her lovely face.
Abeje wound a strip of cloth around their joined hands. She kissed them both and stepped away. One by one all the people placed their hands on the cloth. And in this way Adunbi and Olivie were married.
* * *
For some time, the hut Abeje and Adunbi shared had been theirs alone. Now Olivie slept with them and kept what belongings she had there. Each night Abeje stayed by the cooking fire after her brother and his wife said good night, so that they might lie down before her and have some time to themselves. The first several months were very happy. Adunbi went singing each day to his work and returned singing. When it was known that Olivie was with child, their happiness increased. She grew round and even more beautiful. Adunbi devised ever more ways to find food and goods to support his wife and soon-to-be-born, and Abeje sat with her while they ate, inviting Mother Baobab to come and nourish mother and child. When Olivie’s time grew near Abeje sang much with the spirits, calling for her protection.
The Moon came and went through her phases. One night she rose full on the horizon and Olivie began her labors. Adunbi and Abeje assisted her, and Berthe and Floria came also. The child was born at dawn. A daughter! She announced herself with a lusty cry. Adunbi and Olivie named her Ayo, Iya’s word for Joy. Abeje laid Ayo on her mother’s breast, and soon both mother and child fell asleep.
Later that night Olivie began to bleed. While Mother Baobab held Olivie in her strong branches, Abeje brought roots, leaves and flowers, and songs of every kind, but still the blood flowed. Adunbi became frantic, he held his new daughter and paced in and out of the hut as she cried. Abeje felt that butterfly spirit grow lighter.
“What shall I do, Beje?” Adunbi asked, struggling to control his voice. He was ready to fly to any place on the estate where help could be gotten. But Abeje had already exhausted herself. She was failing her brother, and this thought nearly cut her in two. She swallowed, feeling as though a lump of hot iron were searing her throat.
“We’ll pray now,” she said.
Feeling her way in the dark, Abeje knelt at Olivie’s feet, holding them firmly to the earth.
“Holy One,” she breathed, “don’t take her away! Don’t take her now.” Tears overtook her.
“Stay with me,” Adunbi said.
At last all became very quiet. Olivie was breathing, but very shallowly and at long intervals. The baby slept at her side. Adunbi held Olivie’s hand. And then Abeje said the words that most pained her to speak.
“We must bring her outside, before it is too late.” It was well known that it was better for a soul to rise in sight of the sky.
Adunbi closed his eyes, dropped his chin to his chest. Together with Berthe they carried Olivie out of the hut to where she could see the stars. Adunbi buried his face in her shoulder. Olivie’s eyes opened, and she turned her cheek against his head.
Her eyes looked to the stars.
Her teeth bared in something like a smile, and then she was gone.
It hurt Abeje like nothing else to hear her brother weep. Her ears rang with the jagged edges of his pain.
They buried Olivie beside Iya.
Adunbi broke their cooking pot and laid the pieces on the grave while the people sang.
Right away they had to see what could be done for the child. There were only two women in the Quarters who had milk. One had two children already at the breast, and the other had not enough milk for another. They could feed Ayo only for a very short time before all would suffer.
Adunbi went to the Groom, the Irishman, to speak about it. The Irishman was willing to see if there was a woman on another sugar estate who could take the child, and to see if Monsieur would allow him to make some kind of trade. In two days it was arranged. The Irishman told Adunbi to bring him the baby. Abeje went with Adunbi as he carried Ayo to the barns, knowing that sending her away was her only chance at life. They bound the child to the Irishman with cloth torn from Olivie’s white dress. Then Groom mounted a swift horse and held out his hand to Adunbi.
“I’m sorry for ye,” he said.
Adunbi nodded gravely.
Groom rode away and was quickly gone from sight.
Adunbi stumbled away like a blind man. Abeje let him alone and found that she herself could scarcely move. Their heavy feet carried them, his toward the edge of the Sea, hers back to the Quarters. Already a fever was overtaking her. Abeje made it to the empty hut and lay down on her sleeping mat, and from there she was lost in dreams.
The sound of a heart beating filled her ears. She knew not if it was hers or her brother’s. She rose from her feverish form and up into the wide sky. A gull flew toward her, so close she saw its yellow eye, the open beak and pointed tongue as it cried out. The cry rang out across the whole sky. The gull flew past and she chased it to the edge of the Sea, where below a dark figure staggered down a cliff, and then across the sand that glowed blue in the twilight.
He meant to surrender his body to the warm Sea, to follow his wife, and surely his child. The Sea held him in her arms. The water rushed easily over her brother’s head.
Three dark shapes emerged from the deep. They circled her brother’s body. Round bodies and short, strong limbs. Abeje heard Iya’s name for the creatures, it was awon okun, sea turtle! The turtles circled Adunbi.
Adunbi lay on the beach, his cheek pressed to the hard wet sand. He coughed and vomited out sea water, spat it out as the warm Sea itself had spit out the man. He lay there a long time, the Waking Star shining alone in the lightening sky.
When Groom came back the next day he brought with him the heifer calf that was traded for Adunbi’s child. Groom told Adunbi that Ayo was now at the estate called Auxier, and he named the roads and directions there.
“She’ll live, God willing,” he said.
The heifer calf bawled nightly for its mother, and it took to following Adunbi during the day. He did not bear a grudge against it, its reason for being there. He patted its head when it nosed his arm, and if the calf complained when he went away from its pen, he let it out, and it trotted along at his heels, trailing as did his thoughts of his wife and child. He had them always in his mind and heart. As he grieved his wife, he also sought a way he could one day go to Auxier.
* * *
A new béké came to work for Monsieur as a foreman in the sugar works, who was young and skittish, and did not take well to the responsibility. He had a pack of dogs, vicious brutes that obeyed his command. One day he went with his dogs on the path below the barns and one of them spotted the heifer calf trailing after Adunbi. The dog came after it snarling and got it by the leg, and would have killed it if Adunbi had not beaten the dog off with a stick. But then the foreman tore the stick away from him and struck Adunbi across the back.
Abeje insisted he let her look, even though he assured her it was nothing, just bruises.
“Groom stopped him,” he said, “told him to keep his filthy dogs away from the barns.”
A few days hence Abeje saw Lise near the Quarters.
“Watch out for that new foreman,” said Lise. She had heard him speaking with Monsieur and Madame at the supper table in the Great House. Foreman had learned of her aiding the sick, and that she was the sister of the Groom’s “boy.” The foreman said he didn’t wonder if the two of them had the Evil Eye. Madame clucked at him, calling him foolish, at which he gl
owered and said, “I’ve seen their kind before.” Monsieur asked him where, and the foreman didn’t answer.
Abeje and Adunbi kept away from the Foreman, and thankfully their paths did not cross often. Every once in a while though, Abeje felt a chill steal down her spine, and turning her head would see the foreman, at some distance, watching her.
Some months later, Abeje chanced to pass near the sugar works. Suddenly she saw the foreman atop a wagon loaded with hogsheads. He was bent over the ropes, securing the barrels, and his dogs were milling about the wagon on the ground. No one else was in sight. Abeje set her eyes straight on her path, but too late. A hundred needles pricked her scalp. She glanced back, saw him standing straight. Her eyesight was no longer clear enough to see his expression, but it was easy enough to guess.
The dogs tensed, alert as they were to any shift in the mood of their master. Suddenly Abeje saw herself as if from a distance, a woman alone, in open ground, the red dust over her dress, her wrapped head. The foreman gave a yell, commanding his dogs to kill. They lunged forward with a roar, and at once Abeje was back to herself. She could not outrun the dogs. There was no wall or tree she might scramble up to escape. She would not be able to fight them off, even with a stick in hand, they were too many. The clamor flooded her ears.
She had but one choice. She closed her eyes and quietened her breathing, pressing the rise of her fear down into her feet, down deep into the earth. She went as still as a tree, breathing as the trees did, as if there was no time, and no motion, no more than the turning of the whole earth.
When she opened her eyes again, the dogs were staggering around her in aimless circles, perplexed as if their prey had vanished into thin air. They whined and howled, did not see or hear or smell her at all. As fear was not present they had nothing to attack. Abeje then gathered her skirts and hurried on her way. She did not look back at the foreman. She knew he would not try that trick again.
House of Rougeaux Page 4
