18
When Enriquillo returned to the village cave, he went to the wall near the entryway to draw the picture of his encounter with the dark princess.
“So you’ve seen her, my son?” asked Higuamota.
Higuamota was a square-faced woman with long black hair set in two braids off her shoulders. She was beautiful in the way of an older princess. Although not past forty, her full cheeks had taken on the sag of sadness. She also tended to squint a bit, a product of living in the cave and having to adjust her already weak eyesight to less sunlight. Her lips were full, but her chin often trembled when she spoke. She was taller than the average Taíno woman, which also marked her royal bloodline. She rarely stood amongst her people anymore, preferring to recline on the front porch of the bohio and talk to Agueybana.
“It was just as you said, Mother,” replied Enriquillo. “She was the only one able to see me. She said I should request entry into your dreams tonight. There we shall meet again.”
“You are not schooled in the navigations of dreams, Enriquillo. You will need guidance from Agueybana, and he is yet healing the dark one you brought.”
“The behike doesn’t like my dreams.”
“Agueybana says your dreams are full of monsters, and that you have no butterflies in your soul, like other children your age.”
Enriquillo went to the second chamber out of the central village enclosure. The behike often took those who were gravely ill into the dark region. To keep the spirits of death away, one needed to pit them against others spirits. The chamber spirits wouldn’t allow anything to interfere with the behike’s healing ritual. Enriquillo waited a moment.
“You can come in, Enriquillo,” said the behike. The boy went cautiously, aware of the sacred nature of the behike’s ceremony.
“I have healed his wounds,” said Agueybana, “but I can do nothing for his heart. That may kill him.” Enriquillo went and sat beside Bruno as he lay on the cotton pallet next to the fire.
“You! Get away from me!” said Bruno, when he saw the boy. “Your fruit and your freedom didn’t help Juliette.”
After they brought Bruno to the behike, Enriquillo led André and his family higher into the mountains.
Enriquillo had no answer for Bruno, and he knew from experience that he would have to find the answer on his own. As he left the chamber, he saw Higuamota lounged near the village fire on a duho stool she had placed there. He went and sat beside her, and laid his head in her lap.
“Will you go to the valley and pick yams for meal, my son?” she asked, stroking his head. “I’m not feeling strong for walking tonight.”
Enriquillo stepped outside the cave entrance and picked up a bundle of vegetables.
“I found these at the market, mother.”
“You didn’t steal these, did you?”
“I will replace them with fish. The mounted police have found the hidden valley and destroyed the crops there. Uncle Jaceux is searching for a new plot to replant. He also captured one of their warriors.”
Higuamota looked stricken. “They haven’t discovered our home, have they?”
“Uncle doesn’t believe so. Their behike walked the man’s dreams and saw nothing about our hiding place. Uncle will release him on the path to the town.”
“How is my brother’s village?”
“They moved again after the crops were discovered. Once they have re-settled, he will send a warrior to tell us its new location.”
“I miss my big-go. I haven’t heard him laugh in a long time.”
Higuamota then fell silent by the fire.
Enriqillo wouldn’t say so aloud, but there were nights when he awoke to his mother’s tears. He knew she would give anything to walk along the beach in the sunshine or travel the coastline of her homeland in a canoe.
The cave they resided in was as large as a city. It had had a considerable amount of rock and stalactites removed by Agueybana’s magic. The floor of the cave was smooth like the open square of an outside village, with a stone-lined batey court constructed at the center. Enriquillo and Higuamota’s large dwelling was the focus of the community with each of the respective ni-taíno members of the court arrayed around in successive order of position.
Higuamota was now the sole cacique after Enriquillo’s father died when a mounted police unit stormed the cove where the tribe’s garden was planted at the time. She was so heartbroken at the loss of her husband that Agueybana had assumed most of the decision-making in the tribe.
As Enriquillo approached, the old man sat still as a stone on the porch of the cacique’s dwelling, waiting.
Everyone Agueybana knew as a young man was now dead, so there was no discerning his age. He was thin, brown and wrinkled as a dried tobacco leaf. Though he was still strong enough to take the cohoba and sit all night spouting his visions, as his pupils oscillated between brown and dark red. His hair was still black, and so were his fingernails, as if they’d been dipped in blood, and dried. Higuamota had sat at his knee as a child and still did so when her melancholy overtook her. Enriquillo just wished the old man wouldn’t tell her of his horrible dreams because it didn’t help her spirit.
Enriquillo went back and sat by his mother. He wasn’t looking forward to approaching the old man. Perhaps there was another path into her dreams.
“You must go now, Enriquillo,” said Higuamota. “Soon we sleep, and you can’t walk in my dreams without guidance.”
The boy got up and trudged over to the old man, who did not look at him for a while.
“Time for more monsters,” Agueybana sighed.
19
Archdeacon Phillipe Dominic had to brush the dust off his cowl as he continued toward the priest’s quarters. He was lucky that he still had quick reflexes or they would be taking his carcass to the chapel. He saw the girl Constance was at the reins of the carriage. The slave Esmerelda was sitting beside her. It was obvious from the woman’s expression that she’d relinquished the reins against her will. He was not a fan of fast horses or anything of such excess. He would have a word with the major about his child’s recklessness, for all the good it would do. He had a notion to let it go, but it was what people expected of him. His back had begun to ache, so he braced himself against the small statue of Saint Fidelis.
“Pardon, my presumption, your grace,” he said. He caught his breath at just the right moment.
“Come on, Phillipe.” A tall cheerful-faced priest stepped past him and went to open the front door of the Cabildo. The archdeacon had to pick up his pace. Artemus was a quick stepper, with his long legs. He moved to the doorway and grasped it.
“Thank you, Father Reyes. I’m a bit winded. I was almost run over by a child.”
“You must remember, Phillipe: children are not the only ones to be careful of in this square. You just need to look before you step out.”
The archdeacon had heard this lecture before.
“Yes. As I’ve told you, Artemus, there are not many carriages in the parish I come from.”
“And as I’ve told you, Phillipe, you are no longer there. So look before you walk.”
Father Reyes went ahead of him so he could start getting dressed for morning mass.
As he made his way toward his office, he heard Artemus warn the secretary, Philomena:
“You should probably put that away. Phillipe is coming.”
“But I just made a full—”
When the archdeacon entered the room, the secretary hid a cup behind her back.
The archdeacon just stood and looked at the plump middle-aged woman. He was still breathing a little hard, and put his hand on the corner of her desk, to steady him.
“I think I would like a cup of tea, Philomena,” said Phillipe.
She was a fair-skinned woman with bright red hair and freckles. Not what he would call attractive, but her smile was a wonder to behold.
“Really, Father?” She pulled the cup from behind her. “I just happen to have some—”
“No,
not really,” said the priest. “And you shouldn’t be having it either. Plain water is better.”
Father Reyes shook his head.
“Let’s go, Phillipe.” He offered his arm to his fellow cleric. “I’m surprised you fell for that ruse, Philomena.”
Philomena had turned beet red.
Father Reyes practically dragged the archdeacon behind him as they made their way toward the archdeacon’s chambers.
“You should be ashamed of yourself, Phillipe,” said Father Reyes. “She hasn’t taken our vows.”
“Yes. I suppose I should be. I will confess that I can’t help it,” said the priest, smiling. “She just makes it so easy.”
“So am I to take it this is your confession?”
“No,” replied the archdeacon. “And I will leave it at that.”
The sanctuary was already full by the time the archdeacon had donned his vestments. He made it in time to step behind the altar servers as they entered. The parishioners were singing along with the entrance chant. When he reached his chair, he led them by saying:
“In the name of the Father and the Son and of the Holy Spirit…” He then signified the presence of the Lord to the community. By the time he got to the Penitential Rite, he noticed Major Dugard in one of the middle pews, and he was reminded of a strange incident he’d witnessed in the slave market the previous week.
The archdeacon often went down to the market when the slave ships came in. He wasn’t interested in the dynamics involved in bidding on and purchasing of the slaves; he just found beings that’d just arrived from the Dark Continent fascinating. And sometimes the traders would share stories of strange lands they’d visited and the dangerous beasts they’d encountered. Phillipe had even considered a life as a seaman. His childhood afflictions soon ended that dream. Sailors had to be lithe and strong—or at the very least, able to stand upright for more than a few moments at a time. He imagined life aboard ship would be cruel for one such as him—just as life in the parish school had been. Children were inherently evil. This was not a notion he shared with the parishioners who confessed to sometimes wishing an exasperating child had never been born, but every bit of information he’d been given concerning children had confirmed his belief.
There had been something very peculiar about the girl brought to shore from the Dutch vessel that day. Phillipe found the Dutchmen very unsavory. It wasn’t one specific thing, and not just the fact that they trafficked in human beings—though that was part of it. They just seemed a bit too cheerful for men engaged in such a gruesome enterprise. There had been instances, despite their gleeful nature, where their slaves had obviously been mistreated.
He was not a Jesuit, and so not diametrically opposed to the institution of slavery, though the Dugard model proved the merits of humane treatment. The slaves from the ship the child came from were different, though. For one thing, they had sustained no real injuries, and even more amazing, they were not shackled—not one of them. The girl, as she stepped onto the dock, seemed to be leading them. She walked ahead of the slavers, as well. The French auctioneer had not known what to make of this absurd sight. The bondsmen and women looked more like patrons coming to the market, rather than items to be sold within it.
The auctioneer, Gilles Moreau, approached the Dutch first officer when he came into the square.
“Rubin. Has there been some kind of accident? You have a smaller cargo this time.”
“No. Not at all, Gilles,” replied the Dutchman. “I just thought I’d bring them in in better condition this time.”
The archdeacon had seen this man before, and this was the smallest cargo he had ever delivered.
“So you didn’t stop on the Ivory Coast this trip?”
“We just went to the Congo. I don’t think the buyers will be disappointed. The quality will speak for itself.”
Luigi Francescu, the Dugard overseer, had ridden in at the reins of a large wagon. Esmerelda, the Dugard’s head cook, had been sitting in the bed behind him. Most of the people and quite a few slaves of Port-a-Piment didn’t care for Francescu. He’d used his whip on not a few of them during various encounters, including gambling disputes. Esmerelda was as highly regarded as a house slave could be in the city. Her decision not to sit next to the Corsican would only enhance people’s opinion of her.
The wagon traveled through the market. The girl stood near the auctioneer as he sorted and assessed the stock. They were then moved inside the facility, to be bid on by overseers and various other landowners and their representatives. It was only a split second of recognition, but the child saw Esmerelda and smiled when they made eye contact. The archdeacon only noted it because slaves brought to the auction house were never in such a bright mood. It just felt… odd. Like he’d witnessed a connection he wasn’t meant to see.
The convening proceedings were just as odd.
The overseer came into the auction house and began to peruse the various individuals offered for sale. The archdeacon saw him walk past the girl. As he moved through the slaves, the child placed herself in his path, and smiled at him, as if he were someone she had once known and was glad to see again. Luigi seemed confused for a moment like there was a thought in his mind he couldn’t quite grasp. It was only a momentary pause on the part of the overseer. After he had made his decision, he moved out from among the slaves and waited for the auction to begin. Once it did, there was no doubt which slave Luigi was focusing his bidding on. He bought other slaves, but he purchased the girl first.
20
Agueybana patted his lap.
“Come Enriquillo, lay your head here.” As the boy approached, he noticed the macana leaning on the porch next to the old man.
“Why do you need the war club?”
“You ask too many question when we should be getting started. The club is for the monsters. I’m going to create a pathway for you into your mother’s dream, but I will also have to hold off the creatures in your dreams.”
“You wouldn’t have to if you allowed me to dream my own dream. I have control of the monsters. I defeat them every night.”
“That’s why I will need the macana. Your creatures won’t know me. Now lie down. This will be unpleasant enough without you stalling.”
The boy laid his head across the old man’s skinny, wrinkled thighs. Enriquillo was at first afraid he wouldn’t be able to gain sleep—the old man’s lap felt like lying upon old sticks, but Agueybana placed his right hand at the base of the boy’s skull, and he felt himself begin to doze. In his half slumber, he saw the behike standing at the beginning of a rise leading into a valley.
Now you must go and lie down beside your mother, Enriquillo.
Enriquillo felt himself get up and sleepwalk into their caney where his mother was waiting, though it felt like he was outside his body.
Higuamota was standing beside the big hammock that had been his father’s. It was long and wide and weaved throughout with multicolored cotton fabric. But the rope that secured it to the two corresponding beams within the structure was red interlaced with colored shells and bits of gold. No one had slept in it since his father’s death. He could still make out the shape of his father’s body within the cloth. Higuamota climbed into the bed and made room for him.
“Fear not, my son. I will make a wonderful dream for you and your cacica. Just lie down and let your soul rest.”
The boy did as he was told and his mother wrapped him in her embrace. One good thing about this dream, his mother seemed happier than he’d seen her in quite some time.
21
Nyira took a knife from the bottom drawer of the kitchen dresser and began to clean the fish. As she did, she thought about Enriquillo. He had come from the dense jungle at the base of the mountains. The jungle around her village was much larger. She didn’t realize how much she would miss the river until there was no river. She wasn’t sure what her father’s destiny for her was, but she sensed it had something to do with Enriquillo. She wished there were gorillas in E
nriquillo’s jungle.
She still mourned her friend, Gord, and missed being able to just walk into the bush and be at peace with herself. She wondered what type spirits she might encounter in this bush. She even missed Aboo and its brothers, and longed for the warmth of it dark, thick form, curling around her, the rumble of its purr. There was something so fulfilling about sitting quietly in the jungle.
“Nyira!” cried Esmerelda. “What are you doing, child?”
Nyira came out of her reverie to discover the knife she’d been holding had continued to clean the fish as she sat daydreaming. It floated just above the table as it worked, making sure to stack the fish in a neat pile.
Esmerelda started to approach the knife but stopped.
“Make it stop! Make it stop at once! You promised!”
Nyira quickly took hold of the knife. “I’m sorry, Nolwazie—I mean Esmerelda. I was thinking about my home. I swear I didn’t do it on purpose.”
“How am I to train you? How am I to teach you if I can’t leave you to a task?”
“What is going on in here?” This was mistress of the house, Madame Dugard. Simone Dugard was a tall, pale woman with large dark eyes and an elegant chin. Her thick eyebrows had grown into two dramatic arches, which gave her face the look of constant surprise. This was exaggerated by her right hand, which she often held pressed to her chest.
Esmerelda and Nyira froze. Madame didn’t usually engage the household slaves. That was Josephine’s job. She apparently had been disturbed from the nap she often took in the drawing room off the kitchen. Esmerelda didn’t appear capable of addressing Madame, so Nyira took it upon herself to break the tension, and pulled a live—yet wriggling—little carp out of her mouth, laid it onto the block table, and curtsied to Madame Dugard. Madame’s face registered surprise mixed with disgust.
“I have never seen such a thing,” cried Simone. “How was it possible?”
Esmerelda quickly stepped in.
Nyira and the Invisible Boy Page 13
