*
Nyira did her best to abide by Esmerelda’s cautions. She hadn’t told her that she’d already healed a few broken limbs on the stable boys. The boys were amazed at their friend’s abilities, and as children will do, they made up a game around Nyira’s healing powers. They called it: Fix Me. The rules of it, to Nyira’s chagrin, involved the boys injuring themselves. It was exhilarating to watch her fit them back together.
“You must tell them to stop,” she told Diego. “If Nolwazie finds out, she will be angry and very frightened.”
The frolicking reached dangerous levels when one boy named Stephen dove from the rafters into a bed of hay and ended up impaled through the chest by a pitchfork. When Nyira extracted the implement without leaving a scratch, she knew something terrible would have to happen to make them stop.
The game, while upsetting to her, was infinitely entertaining for the boys. She had gotten angry with Diego, because instead of dissuading them from these gruesome acts, he was amused, too.
On the day that Nyira was away at the market with Esmerelda, the grooms devised a playfully horrifying surprise on her return. As Nyira and Esmerelda pulled up to the manor in the carriage, the archdeacon pulled up beside them.
“Good day Esmerelda, Camille,” replied the Father. He only exchanged a quick smile, as he expected a cool reception from the two slaves. Esmerelda stepped out of the carriage first.
“Good day to you too, Father,” she replied, maintaining as cordial a tone as was possible under the circumstances. “Camille. Why don’t you take the Father’s carriage to the stables first? I will get the food into the pantry and get started on the meat and fish.”
“Yes ma’am,” replied Nyira, giving the archdeacon a glowing smile. It only served to unnerve him, and he got out of his carriage without his hat and bible. As he mounted the steps to the front veranda, Nyira turned the carriage toward the stable. The archdeacon suddenly realized he was naked of head and of word.
“Oh my goodness. I have forgotten myself,” he said and headed off to the stables to retrieve his bible. Nyira, on the other hand, was just pulling the carriage inside. As she did so, she heard a scream from the rear of the stables and witnessed a terrifying sight. One of the younger boys, Jolie, was running toward her, clutching something in his right hand. It was his severed left arm, and he was impaled through the chest on a pitchfork. Nyira jumped out of the carriage and ran for the boy, as the archdeacon came in right behind her.
“I seemed to have forgotten my… what in the name of the Lord has happened?” The boy was flailing, as blood spurted everywhere from his various wounds, especially the stump of his shoulder. The archdeacon noticed that he seemed to want something from the girl. Though she could do nothing, as the child’s blood was all over her and he collapsed in her arms.
“One of you boys, go and get the house manager!” ordered the archdeacon to the stunned stable boys.
“Nyira! We were just playing,” cried Stephen. “Help him, please!”
“Are you mad, boy?” cried the archdeacon. “How is she to help him? Go quickly and alert the manager to get a doctor!” Diego took off. The other boys stood around in horrid silence. The first person to arrive was Esmerelda. Diego had told her what happened. She acted very quickly rounding up all the grooms and herding them as a group into the yard behind the barns.
“Is Jolie going to die, Miss Esmerelda?” asked a confused boy.
“I don’t know, child. He’s very badly injured.” Stephen began to cry.
“It was my fault,” he said. “We were playing. I wanted to surprise Nyira.”
“Surprise her how?” asked Esmerelda.
“She asked us to stop,” said the boy. “She said you would be angry and scared.”
“What was I to be afraid of, Stephen?”
“That she was fixing us. It was a game.”
“You must all come with me,” Esmerelda told them. She took them to her cottage and sat them down in the front room, to explain why their game was very dangerous to Nyira and to them.
“The archdeacon tried to kill Nyira?” asked Stephen, confused.
“Yes,” Esmerelda confirmed. “And if you speak of this game again, you will be condemned as well.”
“But we were just playing. We didn’t do anything wrong,” said Stephen.
“Your game has probably killed one of your friends. What more proof do you need? If the archdeacon had not been there, she could have saved Jolie. Never speak of this again. Or we will all burn.”
They buried little Jolie in the slave graveyard on the property. The archdeacon said a few words and decried the dangers of rough play that led to sin. Nyira cried through the whole ceremony. Esmerelda wanted to tell her to stop, lest the archdeacon become more suspicious. She knew the guilt the child felt, but she had no control over the situation. Esmerelda decided it was time to take Nyira back into the manor house, so that she could keep a closer watch over her.
35
Enriquillo pondered his decision for a week. During that time, he avoided Agueybana’s dream walks. When the mounted police captured and executed two more warriors from Jaceux’s tribe, he sent a message to Guayo, Jaceux’s former second in command.
“Taíno-ti nephew of my cacique,” Guayo said embracing the boy. Jaceux had maintained a number of lower camps throughout the forest. These were where he’d planted orchards of traditional Taíno fruits. Fifty warriors lounged in the grove where Enriquillo sat down to talk with Guayo. The trees were so thick that midday appeared to be late evening.
“It’s good to see you, uncle,” said Enriquillo. Guaxeri brought platters of fruit and roasted fish and iguana. They sat them down between the boy and the commander.
“What are we speaking about, nephew?”
“First,” said Enriquillo. “We should areito to my uncle’s deeds.”
“I agree,” said Guayo. “We should have Juqi, one of my lieutenants, start first. He has the best voice of this group.” He called a tall man with grey peppered throughout his hair, to the fire. Three other warriors came, too.
“These four, more than the rest of us, have kept Jaceux’s deeds since his birth.” The areito went on for half the day, as the men sang and danced Jaceux’s life. Enriquillo did not sing, but sat and cried at the loss of one so well loved. When they stopped, Enriquillo said: “I just wanted to understand all that I have lost, uncle Guayo.”
“That we have all lost, nephew.”
“That is why I came to seek your help. I want to strike at the troopers who took my uncle.”
“Attack the white men?”
“Yes, uncle. For my father, my uncle and my friend. They don’t respect our lives, and I intend to strike back.”
Guayo’s hair was not completely grey, but most of it was. Still, he was not seen as an old man. He had the body and strength of a young warrior, and his eyes were still bright. Only his manner was ponderous. He considered the boy’s words.
“Did a spirit perhaps hitch a ride back from the underworld?” he finally asked. “These are bold words, nephew. Not for a boy.”
“My great great uncle was bold and young. He fought the Castilians for years, and their king chose peace.”
“Those were different times, nephew. This is not our way. And we don’t have the men or the weapons for such a campaign.”
“It need not be so grand, uncle. I only wish to send a message. To strike fear and make them not so eager to kill us.”
“These white men don’t fear us.”
“That is why we must fight, uncle. They kill us like crows.”
“Because they are skilled at killing, Enriquillo. Have you sought counsel with Agueybana on this? He could call upon cohoba’s wisdom.”
“No,” replied Enriquillo.
“So you have sought no word outside yourself?”
“I only ask for a few warriors, uncle. We will not engage the white men directly.”
“Attacking is engaging.”
“They won’t see us, and
so won’t know who engaged them.”
“That is not logical, nephew. How will they know to fear us, if you hide your actions? You must seek the behike, and he will ask cohoba for guidance.”
“He will not agree.”
“Then that is my answer, too. Now we must eat.” He offered the platter of food and Enriquillo took a healthy helping. He was disappointed but held no animosity toward Guayo. He was only following tradition. Once the dancing and feasting concluded, Enriquillo headed back toward his village cave. As he picked his way through the last grove of fruit trees, someone called to him out of the bush. He saw that it was Bayamo, Guayo’s youngest son.
“Taíno-ti cousin,” the boy said. He was two years older than Enriquillo and was tall and wiry. He and a number of boys in his uncle’s village admired Enriquillo’s freedom and special abilities. “We will help you, cousin. Come this way.” Enriquillo had to squeeze past thorn bushes, bramble and miniature pine trees to reach the small hidden camp. It contained ten other boys close to his own age.
“What will you help me do, cousin?” asked Enriquillo. All the boys stood when he entered. Most of them he recognized. One boy of sixteen, named Kaci, was the size of a full grown warrior.
“We will help you strike at the white men.” As Enriquillo gazed around the camp, all the boys nodded their assent to Bayamo’s statement.
“I had hoped for warriors,” replied Enriquillo. “Who would know how to fight.”
“We have—”
“I will teach them,” said a man’s voice from the bush. He stepped out and into the light from the campfire. Enriquillo recognized him from Guayo’s camp. His name was Camaguey. When he came and stood beside Kaci, he realized they were brothers.
“I intend to strike the mounted police dwelling—to set it on fire,” said Enriquillo. “We won’t have but a few moments.”
“I will teach them to shoot a bow on the run.” Enriquillo looked at Bayamo.
“You would defy uncle?”
“I feel as you do. The white men think nothing of killing us. My father only barely escaped Jaceux’s fate.”
“They will continue to kill us. So we must strike at the right time.”
“You can go invisible into the town,” said Camaguey. “See when the dwelling is less guarded.”
36
The archdeacon couldn’t get over the feeling that Camille was somehow responsible for the slave child’s death. The boy was actually smiling as he bled to death, as if he was playing some gruesome game with her. That wasn’t possible since she’d only arrived at the scene just before him. Also the other boy, Stephen, imploring her to help the child; he really seemed to believe she could. He wondered what Artemus might make of all this. The parish carriage stopped at the stables behind the cabildo. How had he gotten here so quickly? He didn’t remember leaving the Dugard property. It was obvious that Peter, the old gelding, knew the way as well as he did. He stepped stiffly from the vehicle and waved at Porthos, the new groom. He was a lot younger than the previous one—he had actually been a man, while this boy looked no more than fourteen. The archdeacon limped across the yard to the building. He would not have the benefit of Artemus’s conclusions in this matter. They had spoken little since the tribunal over a month ago. He had not found the words or the courage to approach his friend. Father Dominic imagined he would simply dismiss his suspicions of the girl. He would welcome that, would like to see the light in his friend’s eyes as he proffered his own argument for her. He admired the man for his convictions. He believed Father Reyes was twice the cleric he was. Only his compassion and contrary stances hindered him politically. That was a shame. He had a brilliant mind and a saint’s heart. He opened the door to the cabildo and saw a tall figure move from the anteroom into the secretary’s office. He became excited.
“Artemus!” He hop-limped to catch up to the figure and reached him as he made it to Philomena’s desk. He grasped the man’s elbow and turned him around. “Oh Artemus, I—” It was not Father Reyes. It was a priest he’d never seen. “What—? Who are you?” The man rose to his full height. He was taller than Artemus.
“I am Father Nailand,” he said, smiling. He had brown eyes too and appeared to be Latin as well.
“What are you doing in here? I am Phillipe Dominic, the archdeacon of this parish.” Phillipe was both embarrassed and angry that he’d been ready to pour his heart out to this stranger.
“I just arrived, I—”
“Get out! How dare you invade this office!”
“I—I’m sorry. I was just looking for some tea. One of the other priests lent me his key and said the secretary had some in her desk.”
“Tea is not permitted in this office, Father Nailand. Hand over the key. I shall have a word with this negligent cleric. What is his name?”
“I believe it was Reyes. A tall fellow. He was very nice. I don’t believe he meant any harm, Archdeacon. I apologize for my presumption.”
“Good night, sir,” said the archdeacon, as he limped to his office and slammed the door. He immediately regretted it. Now he would have to apologize to this priest, too. Phillipe felt almost too weak to walk to the dormitories across the square.
The next morning Artemus came to the cabildo with Father Nailand.
“I have come to introduce you to Father Nailand, Archdeacon. He is the auditor from the diocese. I would also like to request the return of my key.” Phillipe was too embarrassed to speak for a moment. He did reach in his drawer and hand Artemus’s key back.
“I must apologize for my behavior the previous evening, Father. Yesterday was a very difficult day.”
“No apology needed, Archdeacon. I am well aware of the rigors of your duties.”
“Are you an archdeacon as well?”
“No. I am primary assistant to his excellency, the bishop.” It was worse than he’d imagined. “I would hope to secure a key of my own so that I might begin my task as soon as possible.”
“Yes. I will see to it personally.” He obviously had no expectation that the audit would be favorable.
37
Christian convinced Bruno that the kidnapping would only require five men from each of their camps. Then Christian showed up to the rendezvous alone.
“I decided to send my men to set the cane ablaze,” he said.
“I see,” replied Bruno, not sure what to make of it. Jungle bordered the road into town on both sides, so they took up positions on the left side of the path. Bruno had brought three other men and André.
“I guess this means we will be taking them back to our camp,” said André.
“Yes. I guess that is what it means,” replied Christian. “But don’t kill them. It would make them less valuable.” Christian chuckled at his own joke.
“We should probably be quiet if we intend to sneak up on anyone,” replied Bruno. He was starting to feel less comfortable with this operation. Christian was acting very strange.
“Don’t worry, Bruno,” replied Christian. “It will all be over very soon.”
“What are you talking about? What will be over?”
“I know it’s not my child.”
“What are you—”
“Quiet. I see the wagon,” said André. As it got closer, he realized something was wrong. “That… is not Josephine. It’s… master Bissett! Run, Bruno! It’s a trap!” He burst from the bush and ran across the road in front of the wagon as Bissett brought it to a stop at the spot where they were hiding. The mounted police waiting on the other side surrounded and corralled André. They clubbed him when he put up a fight.
“Don’t injure him,” said Bissett, who did not step down from the wagon. “I want him completely intact.” Bruno had never been this close to the man. He was thin and pale and looked tired. Unlike his younger brother, Henri, who had been big and loud.
“How much is he paying you for this?” Bruno asked Christian, as they clapped him in irons.
“Well, we were only after André. You are a nice bonus. Fift
y livre for the murderer of his brother. Ten each for the rest of your camp. Five for mine.”
“This proves it, you know,” said Bruno.
“Proves what?”
“That she loves me.”
“And once again, her love will not save you!”
“You don’t understand love. I told her that. And you’re a fool.”
“I’m the rich fool who gets to watch you hang. I also get extra for your child.”
“You’ll never collect. You forgot someone.” Christian looked troubled.
“The boy’s not here.”
“Is he?” asked Bruno. Christian ran to the mounted police captain.
“Send your troop quickly, before the Indian boy alerts his camp!”
“What Indian boy?”
“He’s invisible! Hurry!”
“What? That’s insane.” Bruno started to laugh as they loaded him onto the wagon along with an unconscious André. “Don’t worry. You’ll get your bounty,” said the captain. “They will be upon them before they know it.”
Half a mile away, Enriquillo was running as fast as he could. There were a number of shortcuts through the jungle, and he took them all. He didn’t need to make it to the camp. He just needed to get to the first signal point. A system that had, ironically, been instituted by André. He also taught him how to speak and understand the drums. The mounted police troop couldn’t see him, but he ran across their path as they galloped up the pass toward Bruno’s settlement. The rain started as he reached and began to beat the first drum. He had been too preoccupied to notice the flat black sky above. Huracan was even more dangerous than white men. The behike would have warned him of the coming storm during the dream walk, would have shown it to him. Now he would have to work his way up the mountain on his own instincts. He couldn’t get to Nyira, but he had to find Juliette and get her to a cave. Get all of them to the caves, if he could. The Taíno knew to seek shelter at any sign of “The Big Wind.” The runaways would probably try to move further up the mountain to get away from the white men. Enriquillo hoped he could find them before they were trapped by the storm.
Nyira and the Invisible Boy Page 19
