“Child, look at me. See me. Can you see I mean you no threat?” Nyira’s green eyes had a hot glow. When she focused them on Esmerelda, it went away. Then she saw what she did to the chicken.
“Oh! I’m so sorry. It came at me so suddenly. I acted without thinking.”
“Put the rooster in the basket,” said Esmerelda.
“What? Why? It was an accident, I—”
“Put the rooster in the basket and follow me, child.” Esmerelda walked past the chicken coop and took the shovel that was leaning against it and walked into the bush behind the yard. Nyira did as she was told and followed the woman into the jungle. They went about fifty yards into the twisted vines, ferns, palmetto and tall weeds. Once she stopped, Esmerelda began to dig. It took about ten minutes, and when she was done, she took the rooster and dropped it into the hole and covered it again.
“Now I don’t know how you did what you did, but you must promise me that you will never do anything like that again.”
“I—I promise I will never harm the chickens again.” Esmerelda kneeled down and looked into the child’s eyes.
“That’s not what I mean, Nyira.”
“I don’t understand.”
“All right, I will say it more plain: what you did is a crime in the eyes of the priests and church of these white people.”
“What are priest and church?”
“They are part of what rule this land. And if they were to discover what you did, they would burn you to death on a pile of logs.”
“Why? I didn’t—”
“Not for what you did, but what you are. And since I hid it and informed no one, they would kill me, too.” Nyira could think of nothing in reply. When Esmerelda started back toward the yard, she followed her. “And one last thing: You must tell no one about this.”
“I—I promise.”
“I didn’t think it would be that hard,” said Daphne when Esmerelda and Nyira entered the kitchen.
“What are you talking about?” asked Esmerelda.
“I didn’t think the child would need help gathering a few eggs.”
“Oh, no. I was just telling her about the hawk that sometimes comes and snatches a chicken.”
*
Instead of the servant’s quarters at the back of the manor house, Esmerelda thought it best to keep the child close.
“My husband Claude and I have a small cottage right before the western cane fields. Would you like to come and stay with us?”
“Will your husband not mind?” asked Nyira
“I don’t think so. He is big and silent, but a good man—a good husband.”
“Thank you, yes. I would be happy to.”
“If you are quiet and cause no trouble, you will get on well with my Claude.”
Nyira was sitting on the floor beside the fireplace in the three-room cottage when a shadow covered the front door. Though it wasn’t a shadow, it was the massive Claude. He filled the door so that it looked like he might not be able to squeeze through it.
“Say hello to our guest, Claude!” cried Esmerelda, as if she had to speak louder in order to engage her husband’s attention. The man grunted once and stumbled over to the chair beside the fireplace. He nearly stepped on Nyira to get there. She scampered quickly out of his path. When he dropped himself into it, it groaned as it took his weight. Nyira was surprised it held. The big man let out a sigh and leaned forward to place his head in his hands. After Claude had sat for about ten minutes, he finally noticed Nyira.
“There is a green-eyed child here,” he declared.
“Yes. I introduced her as you came in. Her name is Camille. They bought her this morning.” The man frowned as he gazed at Nyira.
“They say that green eyes are an indication of magic, child.” He stared at her. Nyira wasn’t sure if he was asking a question or making a statement.
“Well, I am—”
“Time for supper! Camille, come and help me!” Esmerelda moved quickly into the kitchen.
“Did I do something wrong?” asked Nyira.
“Shhh,” said Esmerelda. She leaned close to the girl’s ear. “You are not to do magic, and you are also not allowed to discuss it. Especially with my Claude. Do you understand?”
“I… yes, I suppose.”
*
Nyira worked well the whole week, helping Esmerelda prepare desserts and finding that she very much enjoyed cooking. Because she got to lick the remains of the cake batter or have a piece of fruit while she was cutting it to go into a pie. She had only one slip up when Daphne was trying to reach a jar of preserves in the top of the pantry. She left for a moment to go and get a chair to stand on. When she returned, Nyira handed her the jar. Daphne stared at the small child.
“How did you get this down from there without a chair? Even on one, you would be too short.” When Esmerelda looked up from the butter churn, she quickly realized what had happened.
“I—I allowed her to stand on my shoulders,” said Esmerelda. “I didn’t realize it was for you. Otherwise, I would have waited. I guess she was just trying to be helpful.” Daphne took the preserves, but before carrying them into the dining room, gazed suspiciously at Nyira.
“You have got to control yourself, child,” said Esmerelda.
“I’m sorry. She just looked like she needed help.”
“All right, let’s be clear. Don’t help anyone anymore. No matter what, Nyira. If you can make it to the end of the week without a mistake, I will take you shopping on Friday.”
“I can go to the market with you?”
“If you can control yourself, yes.”
“Oh! I will! I promise not to help anyone for the rest of the week!”
“We shall see. For you, that will be easier said than done.”
“You will see. I promise.”
She made it without a single slip up. When Diego, the groom, brought the carriage up to the house that morning, Constance decided to go as well.
“I have my recital practice with Madame Fournette, this morning. I will ride with you and Camille, Relda.” Esmerelda did not like having Constance in the carriage. The girl was so critical that Esmerelda found she couldn’t always concentrate when she was so close. And with Nyira only one little slip up away from being reported to the archdeacon, she would have rather she not.
“You must be very quiet while Constance is in the carriage, child. I don’t trust her; she’s always up to something and is very mean and vindictive. So be careful.”
*
This market, to Nyira’s relief, had no shrunken heads or men wanting to be set on fire. There were also no live animals—it appeared to be primarily food. Although there was a juggler and a fortune-teller. The fortune-teller was a shriveled old woman who was caramel-colored and had large dark eyes. She wore a scarf over her grey hair, with a bit of net covering that. Nyira stopped and stood staring into the old crone’s ancient yellow eyes.
“Give me your hand, child,” said the old woman. “Why do you cry? Are you troubled?”
“What is the matter, Nyira?” asked Esmerelda.
“Nothing,” said Nyira. “She can’t help me anyway. Can I go and look at the man with the flying balls?”
“Yes. But don’t be gone too long. We have a good bit to buy before we leave.” Nyira raced over to where a small crowd stood watching the juggler. She soon realized after watching for about five minutes, that this was not a very good juggler. He didn’t have anyone to jump over his head or run through his legs, like the last juggler invited to her village market. Nor did the balls burst into flames or change shapes to a hippopotamus or a zebra. This man just had regular balls that he threw in the air. Just another thing about this place that she found disappointing. She finally just strolled through the market, gazing at lots of vegetables and lots of fish, and lots of white people. It was a bigger gathering and more food, but nothing interesting until she saw the half-naked boy.
She followed him with her eyes as he moved through the crowd. He was re
aching and picking up items—as if he was trying to make up his mind, and no one took notice of him. When he got closer to where Esmerelda stood, Nyira went toward her. He didn’t look like a slave; he wasn’t dark. He was red, actually, with a strange flattened forehead, and his clothing—what clothing he was wearing—was similar to what the boys of her village wore: a loincloth, but there was a large gold earring dangling from his left ear. Nyira could tell from the way the boy moved through the crowd, that no one else could see him.
“What are you doing,” whispered Esmerelda.
“I’m looking at the boy from the forest,” replied Nyira.
“What boy?”
“He’s invisible.”
“That is very convenient, child. But you’re not here to play with invisible boys.” Esmerelda placed a basket filled with fish and other seafood into her hands.
“Habari,” Nyira said to the boy as he came closer. He stopped then and looked at her. His face lit up with a smile, and he came toward her.
“Tau,” he replied.
“I’m Nyira.” She pointed to herself.
“Enriquillo, the third,” he replied, pointing to himself.
“Where are the two others?” asked Nyira.
“They reside in Coaybay. Are you the dark princess?”
“Yes,” said Nyira, smiling. “My papa always called me Princess.”
“My mother had a dream that I would meet a dark princess. She said I would marry her and make her my co-cacique. Have you a husband?”
“I am eight.”
“Who are you talking to, child?” asked Esmerelda. “People are starting to notice. And what language are you speaking.”
“I’m speaking the language of the forest boy. My husband.”
“We must get back to the carriage,” said the cook, taking her by the arm. “Tell your invisible husband goodbye.”
*
Esmerelda
Esmerelda looked at the girl as if she had lost her mind. Though by what she had already witnessed from the child, she knew for sure she was a sorceress, so she couldn’t discount anything she did or said.
“I must go now, Enriquillo,” said Nyira. “Ask your mother to let you into her dreams tonight and I will see you again there.”
When they got in the carriage, Esmerelda said, “Now, what have we agreed?”
“That I must not turn anyone or anything to stone,” replied Nyira.
“And what else, Nyira? This is very important.”
“That Claude nor any of the slaves shall witness my powers. I don’t understand this. The people of my village all knew what I was.”
“Because they won’t understand,” replied Esmerelda. “And they would be afraid of you.”
“Why would they be afraid? I would never harm them.”
“People fear anything they don’t understand. My Claude is no different. He spends too much time with the priests to allow a sorceress under his roof. He might even try to harm you.”
“But I love Claude—even though he is grumpy sometimes.”
“And Claude loves you, too, child. But the priest’s teachings make men do very strange and dangerous things on behalf of their god. Just remember: don’t talk to invisible boys when Claude is present. Do you understand?”
“Yes, Nolwazie, I understand.”
“And my real name will not be spoken aloud. I only told you because I knew your name. It’s a secret Claude doesn’t even know. He’s been a slave in this land for most of his life and chooses to know nothing of his people. The priests would have him believe such knowledge is evil.”
As they pulled up near the Cabildo where Constance waited, Nyira became quiet as the girl entered the carriage.
“Might I drive today, Relda?” Constance inquired when she was seated.
“I have been instructed by Miss Josephine that that is not permitted.” She didn’t look at the girl, knowing she wouldn’t be happy with her answer.
“If you do not, I will tell the archdeacon what Camille does to the chickens.”
“You can’t speak of—” Esmerelda grabbed the girl’s arm before she realized what she was doing. Constance began to cry. She was a girl of fifteen and the size of a woman, but she was very delicate and petulant.
“I will also inform Madame that you have been rough with me!” When Constance displayed her arm, her pale skin bore the marks where she’d been handled. Esmerelda realized she was in an untenable position, so she handed the reins over to the girl.
Constance snatched the reins and slapped them forcefully, which caused the carriage to plunge through the middle of Port-à-Piment too quickly. She was barely able to steer the team around a priest, who was just crossing from the chapel toward his quarters on the other side of the square. Esmerelda saw that it was the archdeacon, Phillipe Dominic, and he knew well the markings of Major Dugard’s carriages. She would be in for a scolding from Miss Josephine for this. She just hoped Constance didn’t kill them before they made it back to the plantation. When Esmerelda looked in the rear of the carriage at Nyira, the child didn’t appear frightened. She also did something that Esmerelda still hadn’t gotten used to. She spoke to her with her mind.
Would you like me to slow the horses? You look uncomfortable.
Yes. I would also like it if you didn’t do… this.
Do what?
This in my head talking.
How else was I going to ask you if you wanted me to slow the horses?
All right. Slow them a bit. But don’t make it too obvious.
As you wish.
The horses gradually slowed their pace. Not a lot, but enough that they were more controlled. When they got within half a mile of the plantation, they were only at a brisk trot and stopped smartly once they reached the front yard of the manor house.
“I’m getting better at this,” declared Constance. “You worried needlessly, Relda.” She hopped out of the vehicle, leaving Esmerelda to the task of getting the horses to the stables. When Esmerelda looked up, Josephine was standing on the veranda, watching.
“I would have a word, Esmerelda,” said the household manager. “Once you have returned the horses to the stables.” Esmerelda had hoped to delay the berating, because it would be renewed once the archdeacon gave his report.
When they entered the stable grounds, Diego was there. He smiled as he took hold of the team of horses. Diego was a tall skinny boy of about eleven; he had taken an instant liking to the young Nyira.
“Comment allez-vous aujourd’hui, mademoiselle?”
“Je vais bien, mon bon monsieur.”
“I’m glad you are improving your French,” snapped Esmerelda. “Now let this boy be about his task so that we may get to the house.”
“Can I not stay and help Diego with the horses?” asked Nyira.
“No. We have the fish and shellfish to clean. Or do you plan to do that by magic?”
“I would if you allowed it. Shall I?” The little girl waved her left hand as if to cast a spell over the basket she held.
“No child! I didn’t mean it! Promise me you’ll never do such a thing!”
Nyira laughed. “You are so funny Nol— I mean, Esmerelda.”
Diego obviously didn’t understand them, but he seemed fascinated by the exchange. He could understand a word here and there. She had taught him a few when he was smaller, and he knew never to repeat them around anyone.
“I’m not funny,” replied Esmerelda. “I’m tired already, and we haven’t even begun. Get back to work, Diego!”
Esmerelda took Nyira by the arm and pulled her toward the house. They entered the kitchen at the rear of the residence after climbing the wooden steps to the back veranda. Esmerelda hoped Josephine would put off their talk until she was able to at least start the midday meal. But there was no hope of that, as the short, trunk shaped woman was standing near the giant fireplace when they entered the kitchen. The fire was only low burning coals, but before Josephine could move toward Esmerelda, her face furious, th
e blaze sprang up and caught the tail of her shawl. The little woman quickly found herself occupied with putting out her garment, and Esmerelda rushed to help. Once the fire was out, Ms. Mallet’s face was in full blush at her sudden vulnerability.
“Thank you, Esmerelda,” she said, barely able to look her in the eyes. She quickly exited the kitchen. Esmerelda turned to look at Nyira, who was still standing in the entryway from the back veranda, smiling.
“Don’t be so smug, girl! If she had been harmed…” Nyira’s smile vanished. “You never think!”
She left Nyira in the kitchen to consider what she’d done, while she went to the dining room to receive the scolding she was due from Josephine.
*
Nyira took the basket of fish and seafood and placed it on the block table in the middle of the room. Sometimes she wasn’t sure what to make of Nolwazie. Even when she was right, she was wrong. The fire wouldn’t have harmed Josephine—she wouldn’t have allowed that. Esmerelda should know that. But still, she seemed to resent Nyira’s help when she most needed it.
Nyira and the Invisible Boy Page 12
