“Yes. I can help them,” replied Nyira. “Papa let me help him when he saw I understood as well as his older apprentice.”
“I don’t understand what you’re doing here,” said Esmerelda. “Are you going to be helping these people, from now on?”
Nyira paused and then looked at Enriquillo.
“I guess I am. Will you help me, Nolwazie?”
“Oh, child… I—I don’t know. You’ve already changed my life so much. Let me think about it.”
When Nyira finished binding and cleaning everyone’s wounds, she looked at Enriquillo again.
“Agueybana could’ve healed these people. We’ll need his help, too. I can ask him if you won’t.”
“I can try,” said Enriquillo, not sounding happy about it. “He knows we need him. He knows everything.”
“He also knows you don’t want to ask him.” She turned and headed out of the camp with Esmerelda.
“Don’t you want me to guide you back along the trail?”
“No. I remember the way.”
*
On the walk back, Esmerelda asked:
“Why are you doing this, Nyira? Don’t you have enough to occupy you on the plantation?”
“I won’t put you in danger, Nolwazie. So you don’t have to help. But I have to. Papa told me to listen to my heart. I think he sent me here.”
Esmerelda had to sit down after a while. She braced her hand against a palm tree and lowered herself down into the grass.
“I haven’t been in a jungle since I was a little girl. It doesn’t feel quite the same as the Congo.”
“It’s not, Nolwazie. You wouldn’t be able to see if we were in the Congo. And you would know not to sit down.”
“I know. But I’m tired. How is it you know your heart? You‘re a child, brought here like the rest of us.”
“I gave up my freedom to save my friend, and I haven’t felt like a child since my village was burned and papa killed. But I want to be a family with you and Claude, though. I promise to keep you from danger.”
“I want that, too. You can’t control danger, Nyira. I’m not a sorceress, but I’m sure about that.”
“We’d better get moving again. Enriquillo said soldiers sometimes search this area for runaway slaves.”
“Are there that many?”
“More every day. You saw Bruno’s group. And I doubt all of them are friendly.” She helped Esmerelda to her feet, and they moved on along the trail.
26
Earlier that evening, Bruno took André and a new member of the camp—Julio—on a rescue mission. Julio had been the husband of the slave Almira. Once Meritricio killed his wife, Julio knew it was just a matter of time before the overseer focused his animosity on him. The General and he had blamed Almira for the death of the child fathered by the overseer. It was an accident. Almira tripped over the last step to the veranda and dropped the baby, while on her way to give it to the plantation wet-nurse. They blamed Julio, too—by association.
Julio had heard of the slave Pierre’s escape and was encouraged. He was not a dark slave. He was brown-skinned, tall and solidly built. His greatest flaw was he only had one eye—due to an accident in the cane fields. Because of the eye, he was more afraid for his life. A man needed two eyes when he knew his days were numbered. Julio worked in the plantation’s massive stables, tending the stock and stacking hay and loading grain into the feed loft.
It was lucky he wasn’t crushed under the hundred bags of grain dropped by Pablo, one of the overseer’s slave henchmen. The grain had instead landed on Miguel, who stood where Julio had been, just a moment before. Pablo looked very disappointed after the incident. There was no other way to describe his expression. His eyes were already dark, and his long hair and Indian features only enhanced his menacing nature. Julio could practically hear the man’s eyes say: I am sorry I didn’t kill you. He knew then, that if he wanted to live, he had to take his chances in the mountains. André had discovered him hiding in the jungle as he returned from a fishing trip to the secret cove. Once Bruno heard Julio’s story, he knew he had to try and rescue his love.
They made it through the jungle bordering the town without encountering a mounted police unit. Thankfully, the sun was just setting, so they didn’t need a torch to see by. When they entered the bush fronting the western fields of the Bissett property, Bruno got quiet.
“Bruno,” André whispered. “Are you okay? What should we do now?” Bruno’s heart had sped up for a moment until he realized that André had the most to lose if they got caught.
“I’m okay,” said Bruno. “Just a few nerves at being back here.”
“Yes. I know. So I hope you understand if I let the two of you go on without me.”
“I understand. I guess it’s just you and me, Jul—”
“Wait! Someone’s coming,” said André. “It looks like… I think I know her.”
Yiella was leaving her potato in the jungle that evening. Her husband was Francis. One of the overseers had begun making advances upon her. This, Yiella knew, would lead to a yellow child. When she saw Bruno and André, she knew their intentions.
“She may not want to come,” said Yiella. She was a beauty in her own right, and if she stayed, none of her children would be by her husband.
“Why would she not want to come?” asked Bruno.
“Because she knows Christian will kill you the next time.”
“It’s his mistake he didn’t do it when he had the chance,” replied Bruno. “Tell her I will return at full dark.”
*
“Tell Bruno that I intend to keep my promise,” Juliette told Yiella. That would have been the end of it, except someone overheard Yiella deliver Bruno’s message to his love, and conveyed it to the Mandinka. As Yiella, Francis, and three other slaves waited in the jungle, Christian and a group of slaves who owed him money attacked them.
Bruno saw it as an act of cowardice because Christian hadn’t waited for him.
“It’s bad luck to fight a man you almost killed,” said André. “The gods may not smile upon him a second time.”
“I don’t care about his luck,” snapped Bruno.
Word of Julio’s escape emboldened others. In response, a slave-hunting platoon was established. More slaves attempted escape, but hardly any got away. Not because the platoons were so effective. Most of them wandered aimlessly in the jungle. The escapees never planned. And since the jungles of Saint Domingue bore no resemblance to the African Congo, hardly any made it to the mountains. The few that did joined Bruno’s band. Bruno never saw himself as a leader. But he found that he could be ruthless when he had to be. This first occurred when one disagreeable man who was about to be expelled, threatened to expose the camp’s location. Bruno dispatched André and Julio with a couple of machetes to make sure he didn’t.
By the end of three months in the mountains, Bruno had a band of over thirty men with machetes.
One day a scout spotted a slave-hunting platoon of about twenty soldiers, making camp in the valley about two miles from Bruno’s upper camp.
“I think they’re searching for us,” said André.
“And they’re getting close,” replied Julio.
“You said they were just making camp, Emile?” asked Bruno.
“Yes. About two miles below us, in the valley,” said the excited youth.
“The general would wait until they were asleep,” said Julio. “But if they are allowed to awaken, they may find us.”
“Then it’s best that they don’t,” said Bruno. “Let’s give them about five hours of rest.”
“Then we rush the camp,” said André.
“If we take out the sentries first, we won’t need to rush,” replied Julio. “We could take our time.” Julio was right. Bruno really liked this new Spaniard.
Once the sentries were down, they could go from tent to tent. The only soldier to see them was one man who went out into the jungle to have a pee. He got a look at André who walked toward hi
m with a grin on his face and a machete on his shoulder.
“Good night soldier,” said André. The man stumbled backward with his pants around his ankles and fell into Julio, who cut his throat. When it was done, they had acquired twenty muskets, fifteen flintlock pistols and a cache of ammunition and other tools and supplies. It was also Julio’s idea that they shouldn’t keep the horses.
“Why not?” complained André. “We could use some horses.”
“We need to cover our tracks,” replied Julio. If we tie the bodies to the horses and send them down the mountain, they won’t know where we attacked them. We don’t want them to know how close they came.”
Bruno decided it was time to sit down and plan what they would do next. Their first priority was more food—because hungry men were often angrier with their leaders. André stated the obvious: “Why not go to the Bissett and take some corn and potatoes?”
“But not all together,” replied Julio. “The soldiers usually go out in small groups.”
“Yes. They move faster that way,” said André.
The first operation was easy. The crop was still in the fields. All the men had to do was pick it. The women in the camp had fashioned large baskets from palmetto and palm fronds. The baskets were full within half an hour. A sugar cane crop was also available. The former slaves drew the line at that. They had access to fish and other seafood along the coast. When they discovered how easy it was to attack the crops, livestock was the next target.
“We’ll have to go into the property to take anything large,” said Julio. “That will be dangerous.”
“All of this is dangerous,” replied Bruno, in his brooding tone. Leading was taking its toll on him.
27
When the archdeacon came to the Dugard property, he was usually there to provide religious counsel to the Major and Madame, also to inquire about Constance possibly becoming a nun. He derived a cruel satisfaction at how pale the girl’s features became when the subject came up. She often made a hasty exit from the room whenever he had had a few glasses of wine and became jovial. It wasn’t his best quality.
On this particular evening, Esmerelda gave a little chuckle at the Father’s jest. This drew an evil eye from Constance.
“You’re amused, Relda,” replied Constance, acidly. “I wonder if Camille could perhaps show the Father the way to turn chickens into stones. That would perhaps amuse him.” Esmerelda nearly spilled the plate of pastries she’d been serving around the dining table.
“Of what blasphemy does the girl speak?” asked the Father, looking at Madame Dugard.
“The child has some minor ability with trickery,” replied Madame. “I myself witnessed her produce a live fish from her mouth.”
The archdeacon’s face was rather placid as the possibility of an actual witch bounced around in his mind. It seemed unlikely, but after the Montoya incident, he would make sure such proceedings were handled properly. The girl Constance surely didn’t consider all the unpleasant ramifications of such a serious charge, and probably made her remark out of spite. There was no getting around it now though.
Esmerelda was speechless.
“Is this true, Esmerelda?” asked the archdeacon. “Have you and Claude been hiding a sorceress?” His tone was just slightly mirthful, but there was no levity in his inquiry.
“I assure you, Father, Claude and I wouldn’t take such a thing lightly. The child is very playful and learns quickly the tasks that I set for her. But she is no sorceress.”
“I see,” replied the Father. “You understand that I will have to question the girl? That is the requirement of such a charge.”
28
“He wishes to see chicken turned to stone?” asked Nyira. Esmerelda had gone to the stables, where she was working, forking hay into the various horses’ stalls. Esmerelda sat down upon an upended milk pail to compose her words.
“Please listen to me, child.” She got up and took the pitchfork away from the girl, and made her come and sit beside her on the floor. “He doesn’t want to see any magic. Remember the agreement we made about Claude and the rest of the household?”
“That I shouldn’t show them anything? No magic or cures? I’ve kept it, Nolwazie.”
“Well, now you must be doubly on your guard, for if you show this man even the slightest display of your magic, he will burn you.”
“For what reason? I’ve never said a harsh word to the archdeacon. And he always smiles when he sees me and I take his horse to the stables.”
“How can I make you understand, Nyra? It is a function of his faith.”
“It’s a part of his faith to kill me?”
“Not just you, but all who are like you. They consider you to be evil. The whole of his world is the murder of those like you, and any who might shield you.”
“So you and Claude…?” Suddenly the girl’s face registered the magnitude of her dilemma.
“And such a thing is accepted?”
“Yes.”
“But yet, I’m considered evil?”
“Tell him nothing,” replied Esmerelda. “Show him nothing. In fact, try not to speak at all unless you have to.”
29
Enriquillo was pleasantly surprised at the vibrancy of Bruno’s high camp. Women were tending cook fires, while men erected dwellings along the edge of the clearing and even further out into the valley. They chopped down trees with axes and other tools captured in raids or brought by recently escaped individuals. There were also Africans hacking a clearing out of the thick towering rain forest foliage.
“You have become cacique,” said Enriquillo. He’d strolled confidently through the camp. Some of the warriors eyed him dangerously and reached for their machetes. André set them straight about the divine one. Some weren’t initially convinced. He looked just like any other boy to them. “He’s not,” replied André. “You’ll find out soon enough.”
Bruno was also uncomfortable with the title of chief, even as he reclined in the colorful cotton hammock provided by the women of Enriquillo’s tribe. There was also a duho stool made by a Taíno artisan. Enriquillo also heard the sounds of drums from far out in the valley.
“I can’t be King,” grumbled Bruno. “No man is complete… without a queen.”
“I see a number of women in your camp,” replied Enriquillo, as he plopped down on the ground and took a mango from the pile near Bruno. “Surely there is one you can choose.” Someone had also gifted Bruno a kerosene lamp they’d brought with them. His face looked aggrieved in the light.
“No. There isn’t.”
“You’re not happy being free?” asked Enriquillo.
“It’s not that simple,” replied Bruno, as he brought his knees up and laid his chin on them. “I enjoy my freedom, but happiness has nothing to do with it.”
“I don’t understand.”
“When I was a slave, I was happy with Juliette beside me. And if I could have her back, I’d give up my freedom.”
“That doesn’t make sense,” replied Enriquillo.
“I told you it wasn’t simple. You have special abilities, but you’re still a child. There’s no magic to make you understand. But you will, one day.”
Enriquillo took a bite of his mango and sat quietly, as he considered Bruno’s words.
“You’re wrong,” he finally said. “I know sadness very well. My mother is the same way. She would give up her life if she could be with my father.”
“Maybe one day I can meet your mother,” replied Bruno.
“I don’t think so. She doesn’t care for visitors, and rarely leaves our cave.”
“I’m sorry if your mother truly feels the way I do.”
“Agueybana couldn’t heal your sadness or my mother’s,” said Enriquillo.
“I do have something you can help me with,” said Bruno.
“What’s that?”
“We need someone to sneak onto the Bissett property and bring out a few pigs and cattle. Our numbers are growing too fast to rely on
just fish and fruit.”
“Okay. I can open the pens and shoo them toward you.”
“That will be fine. We’ll graze them up here in the high valleys. Let us know when you’re ready.”
30
The chicken walked around inside the church chamber where the archdeacon had arranged for the inquiry. Nyira regarded the bird with curiosity.
“Will it hatch its eggs in your chamber, Father?” The archdeacon and the council he’d gathered to witness his interrogation shook their heads and scowled at the child’s question.
When Phillipe had heard Constance’s accusation, it made sense, given his first encounter with the child.
“It is not here to lay eggs, child,” replied the archdeacon. “It’s here to attack you. What will you do?”
“I would run,” replied Nyira. “I always run when the rooster chases me. This is not a rooster, Father.”
“The child has a point,” replied Father Reyes. “Roosters are much more threatening than a mere chicken. Perhaps you should have brought a larger chicken, Phillipe.”
Father Reyes had not agreed with the archdeacon’s assessment and decision to proceed with the tribunal. He suggested that the girl Constance had simply sought to lash out at the slave Esmerelda, to keep her in her place. He had positioned himself as counter to the archdeacon’s prosecuting intentions.
The rest of the council gave a bit of a snicker at Father Reyes’s remark, and looked side-eyed at the archdeacon, to see if he took the humor of the comment. He had not.
The archdeacon was not happy about this development and was also piqued at this chicken—for not being threatening enough and contributing to the less than serious tone this proceeding had taken. He decided to make sure it would be that evening’s dinner. He was also growing impatient with this silly slave child. Constance, who was a bit silly herself, had led him to believe this girl had some sort of magical powers. The discovery of an actual witch would surely raise his stature in the eyes of the diocese. But the child was making a fool of him. What had he been thinking listening to a young woman who wasn’t even smart enough to get herself married by this time?
Nyira and the Invisible Boy Page 16
