“No. Let’s not,” replied Bruno. “We have a bit further to go. There are more trees along our path. So we should try to make it to the middle of the property if we can.” They swam on. The first body they found was the boy, Octavius.
“He must have been heading to put a potato in the jungle, too,” said Bruno.
“No. I doubt it,” replied Francois. “This boy and his father were known informers for the overseers. He was probably a spy.”
“I will never understand how some slaves can do such a thing. Especially when it gains them nothing.”
“Maybe some extra food or no lashes for a month,” said Francois. “Bissett wasn’t going to free him.” They came upon a few floating structures which Bruno realized were shacks taken apart by the winds. Some of the debris was buoyant enough to climb upon and rest awhile. They took turns, so as not to sink it. They were trying to make it to the slave quarters, but Bruno had forgotten about the ancient coconut tree that stood midway into the property, right after you got out of the eastern fields. It was leaning badly. Not quite to the water, though it might not be long before it plunged in. There was a woman and her child in it. They had found a way to tie themselves to it. He couldn’t imagine how they had survived this long in the awful power of the winds and rain.
“Hello!” Bruno called to the mother.
“I recognize her,” said Francois. “That’s Simone, and her son’s name is… was Nicholas.” The woman didn’t respond. She looked glassy-eyed. Bruno wondered when was the last time she’d eaten. The body of her child was tied to her back. It lay as if it were sleeping, with its head leaning on her shoulder. She barely seemed to notice them—if she did at all. She must have been trying to get to the jungle as well. They took a moment to rest against the leaning tree.
“If we can find some food, we will come back to you,” Bruno called to her. The next stretch took them into the slave quarters. There weren’t any buildings, but some industrious individual had built a rather sturdy looking raft. There was a man and his two children on it.
“That’s Charles, the carpenter,” said Francois. “His wife died last year, and he’s been trying to keep his children from being sold away from him.”
“He won’t have to worry about that now,” replied Bruno.
“Hello!” cried Charles. The children, a girl and a boy clung to their father. “Francois! Is that you?”
“Yes! It’s me, Charles, and this… can we come aboard your raft?”
“Yes,” said Charles. “Who is that with you?”
“This is Bruno. Remember—”
“Arnaud’s young friend! Yes. You look different now, Bruno.”
“That’s probably because I am tired, Charles. Can we board?”
“Oh, yes. I’m sorry. Just make sure you come from opposite sides. So we don’t tip from your weight.” This made sense to Bruno, so they did as the slim short man suggested. Bruno came up on the side of the little girl. The child looked a little scared, but what she didn’t look like was hungry. Francois came up on the other side, near the boy. The children didn’t look more than four or five. But when they boarded, Charles had a surprise: a pistol pointed at them.
“Now I know you, Francois, but I am going to protect my family. So don’t do anything stupid.” Bruno liked this man and decided he would invite him to be in his camp. If he didn’t shoot him.
“That probably won’t shoot,” said Bruno. “What with all the rain. The powder is surely wet.”
“I’m not a fool, man. I made sure to wrap it in some oilcloth. Now if you two want something to eat, I’ve got some food and some water.”
“You did this before the storm, didn’t you, Charles?”
“Yes. I was going to get some of the other slaves to help me get it to the shore behind the property.”
“I don’t know how far you would’ve gotten, but I like your idea,” said Bruno. Charles had some meat wrapped in oilcloth, too.
“I know where he got this!” said Francois. “Charles built the smokehouse.”
“Where did you hide this thing?” asked Bruno.
“In the grass under the trees behind the calenda field. I’ve been working on it for a year. Since after Miriam, my wife, died. I have to get my children away before master sells them.”
“You don’t need it anymore,” said Francois. “Bissett is surely dead. He won’t be selling anyone.”
“I don’t think that will last,” said Bruno. “This storm is over, so there will be other masters soon. I have another idea you might consider.” The raft was very well constructed, and even had a makeshift sail to take advantage of the ocean winds. Bruno knew it was a plan doomed to fail, though. He was lucky to have met Charles because if they survived and made it back to the mountains, they would need someone to help rebuild the settlement. They took off from the raft after Charles gave them some idea of what shape the manor house was in. The mistress and most of the children had perished as well when the floodwaters overwhelmed them. Charles had also told them that there were still a number of overseers hiding around the property. He had shot one as they made their way toward the raft behind the calenda field.
“Just be careful,” said Charles. “I left a stash of smoked meat in the barn—if it’s still standing. I had to leave it. There was only so much I could carry with the children, even on a horse.”
50
Nyira was too busy tending to the sick to realize the significance of the major’s arrival, but Esmerelda wasn’t.
“You must hide, Nyira! Please, go now!” The girl put down the bloody rag she was using to wipe the face of an injured house slave.
“Where am I to go, Nolwazie?”
“I—I don’t know, child, but—”
“Where will you go? You are in danger, too.”
“Don’t worry about me! Please run!”
The major was calling into the building:
“Madame Dugard, are you well?” he asked. Madame left Constance’s side and rushed to the window, but she couldn’t manage to get it up.
“Someone, please help me to open this,” she cried. “I must speak to my husband.”
One of the slaves obliged her. “Yes, Ferdinand, my love!”
“Is Constance—”
“Yes, she is well, too! Please get us out of this structure!” She broke down in tears again.
“Never fear, my love. I shall toss up a Jacob’s ladder to the window. Have one of the slaves catch it.” This was done. Christophe, the butler, caught the thing. He called to Gilbert the blacksmith and a large field hand named Felix to hold and secure the ends of it.
“Gilbert, will you hold Constance so that she might get down the rope first?” There was no need. The major had climbed up himself. He was an older, slim man, but he took his daughter in his arms like she was still a small child. “Hold on tight, Connie. We go back down to the boat.” He deftly descended the ladder as those in the mill watched. A trooper situated in the boat took Constance from his arms. And then Madame made a suggestion that had to do with Nyira’s safety.
“Now you must go, Archdeacon,” she said.
“Yes, I will help you to the ladder, Phillipe,” said Father Reyes. The archdeacon was halfway to the window before he realized what was happening.
“I will wait until last,” he said. “To stay with the child. You should wait as well, Father Reyes.”
“It’s not necessary,” said Madame, a bit distraught. “I will stay with my slave, Archdeacon.” Phillipe was on to this attempt at subterfuge.
“I am sorry, Madame, but she is no longer your slave. I have taken possession of this witch in the name of the church.”
“She is not a witch!” cried Madame, and looked like she might cry, but realized it wouldn’t deter the archdeacon. “I will stay anyway. To see she is treated well.”
“As you wish, Madame. Christophe, please ask Major Dugard to dispatch mounted police to arrest this… sorceress?” He looked at Nyira. “Is that the proper term, child?
”
“Yes, Father,” replied Nyira. “It is the proper term.” Esmerelda broke down in tears.
When a mounted policeman came through the window, the archdeacon asked him a question:
“Have you a pair of shackles in your possession, sergeant?” This brought an anguished cry from Madame Dugard, and Father Reyes went and consoled her.
“She has saved our lives, Father! Does that mean nothing?”
“No Madame. No, it does not.”
As the trooper approached Nyira to place the shackles upon her, Esmerelda brained him with the water bucket.
“Run, Nyira!” she cried. “Get away, girl!”
“Nolwazie, what are you doing?”
A second trooper climbed through the window, pulled his club and rushed Esmerelda. Nyira stepped in his path and pointed at the club; it burst into flames, and the trooper’s sleeve caught fire. Soon he was almost engulfed in flame. The man staggered to the window and jumped into the water.
“Someone stop this witch!” cried the archdeacon. “She will burn us all!” It was Artemus who found the solution. He picked up the hem of his smock, came up behind her and covered Nyira’s head.
“Now be still, child,” he whispered to her. “Don’t give them a reason to harm you.”
“I’m sorry, Father. I only meant to protect Nolwazie.”
“Someone cut the cloth and tie this covering around her head,” said the archdeacon. “Thank you, Artemus. You have saved us.” Father Reyes didn’t reply, instead whispered to Nyira:
“You have not helped your case, Camille. Now they fear you.”
They used a separate boat to transport Nyira—in a pair of shackles, no less. They took her to the only undamaged vessel anchored in Port-a-Piment’s harbor and locked her in the hold. Nyira was consumed by melancholy as she descended the ladder. Where was her beloved Benzia when she needed her?
51
When Enriquillo saw his mother, he knew she would be in danger.
“I am here my son,” she cried. “You must—” The knef went for her at once.
“Mother, run!” He threw himself in the path of the thing. And something about his gesture made it back away.
“What is that, Enriquillo?”
“It wanted something from me when I was afraid. But now that you are here, it seems to want it from you. We must get away.”
“No, Enriquillo. We will not run. It feeds on weakness and fear. I saw how it backed away when you bravely came to my defense. We must fight it together. I will not be afraid and neither should you.” Enriquillo realized she was right. But there was must still be something clinging to him because the thing still waited.
“You are a good son, Enriquillo,” said Higuamota. “The ancestors will welcome you when it’s your time.”
“Mother, I have done terrible things. I have killed,” he said and sat down and sobbed. “I was sick from it. I am a killer!” The knef moved toward him.
“You have only injured, my son. Cohoba showed the behike the battle. You have only wounded. Others completed the kill.”
“But the white man on the mountain,” said Enriquillo.
“That we cannot take away. You will answer him with his own crimes, that prompted your fury.”
“That’s true,” said Enriquillo. “I was blind with anger over Abiodun’s death.” He got up and looked the knef in its one eye. “I am not afraid of you. We have nothing you want.” He picked up a hand full of dirt and flung it at the thing. It began to fade as Enriquillo and Higuamota advanced upon it. “It’s fading, mother. Now I know its weakness. If your spirit is strong, it can’t hurt you.”
“I believe you are correct, my son. Now you must awaken.” She disappeared, and he was alone.
52
The barn was partially submerged, but a good part of it was yet above the floodwaters. As they swam into the yard, they saw a number of individuals on the roof of the structure. At first, Bruno was afraid they might be overseers. As they drew nearer, he saw they were not. Although there was one white person among the group, a boy of about eight, it appeared.
“Who is that?” Bruno asked Francois.
“That is Gustave, the master’s son.”
“Maybe all the overseers are dead?”
“It’s possible but unlikely,” said Francois. “There are many more structures on the property.” Before Francois could finish his statement, a boat came around the side of the structure, carrying a group of white men.
“I should have known someone would have access to boats,” said Bruno. “We need to stay out of sight before they—” Another boat came up behind them.
“We have them, Mister Miles!” said a white man in the boat.
Francois submerged quickly, followed by Bruno. They had to put some distance between them and the boats. Bruno went the opposite way to Francois, feeling they’d have a better chance if they separated. Bruno’s lungs felt like they were going to burst as he pushed himself, desperately trying to find a structure to surface next to. He finally noticed what looked like a series of boards, about twenty yards away from their original spot. He came up slowly and saw it was debris, and not far from it were a group of floating bodies. One of them was a white woman. The others were a black man and a woman. He thought he recognized them. These must be the remains of Mistress Bissett and Josephine and Pierre Paul. There was no way to be sure since they were badly bloated. He turned around and saw the manor in the distance. It had shifted sideways like an unbalanced ship. He submerged again and moved west toward the house. He didn’t know if he would find food there, but perhaps a refuge from the overseers in the boats. He stopped at the old tree that had stood near it. It had fallen over, and he worked his way around the trunk. He waited a moment to be sure no overseers had concealed themselves around the corner. When he was about to move, something grabbed his foot. Francois came up grinning near him.
“I was wondering why it was taking you so long.”
“You nearly scared me to death,” said Bruno, and might have hit him, if he hadn’t wanted to conserve his energy.
“I have been in the manor house,” said Francois.
“What did you find?”
“I haven’t looked yet. I was waiting for you.”
“Lead me to it,” said Bruno.
“We have to go through a rear window. There are items blocking the front door. They must have been trying to keep some of the panicked slaves out.”
“And they waited too long to get out themselves. I found Mistress Bissett and her maid and butler not far from here.” They swam around behind the sloping manor house and climbed in through the back veranda. Bruno had never been in the house, obviously, but he was struck by the grandeur. His father had told him about the palace of the King of Kongo and described the walls coated with gold and the bright, colorful interior, and the people in all their finery. There were no people here, of course. But from the crystal chandelier that hung from the ceiling in the large central room, to the golden drapes upon the windows and the elegant paintings along the walls with silver flecked wallpaper, it was still the grandest place he’d ever been in—but no masters. He knew that was temporary. When the water receded, this would be a slave owner’s manor house again. The thought infuriated him. If it were possible, he would burn this building, burn this whole place.
“Look,” said Francois, “let’s go up the stairs and see what’s up there.” Bruno wasn’t sure that was wise, though it was above the water. They swam toward the marble stairs rising out of the floodwaters and leading to the second floor. When they reached them and pulled themselves out of the water to rest, Bruno realized how fatigued he was and regretted this rest, because it was deceptive. They would die if they stayed here too long—either that or be recaptured. Francois didn’t appear to need a rest. He sprang from the water like an excited boy and ran up the steps.
“Come on. I want to see what’s in here,” he said. Bruno got up slowly.
“Wait, Francois,” he said. “W
e should get out of here.”
“What? But why? I have always wondered what they—”
“I don’t like the way it feels in here.”
“It’s quiet, that’s all.”
“It’s—” They heard something fall and shatter in one of the near rooms.
“Someone’s still here!” Francois ran up the stairs and turned the corner.
“Francois, wait! What the hell are you doing?” Bruno ran up after him.
53
The guards in the prison were afraid of Nyira. Especially after they heard how she set their comrade on fire. She had to wear a hood, but they made a point to be very kind to her. They were told not to feed her very often so that she might grow weaker. None of them wanted to risk her being unhappy, so they fed her the best water and food—from their own personal rations. There was an opening in the hood so she could eat.
When she had been in the hold for a few days, Father Reyes came to visit her.
“Good morning Camille,” said the Father. “It’s Father Reyes.”
“Hello, Father. Is it morning? I can’t tell.”
“I would have them remove the hood while we speak. You won’t set me on fire, will you, child?”
“I could never do such a thing to you, Father.”
“Good. Then I would like to talk with you a while.” He looked at the guard “You may remove the hood, sergeant.” The man was hesitant for a moment, but finally stepped up and removed the lock and little chain that secured the hood in place. “Is there possibly a seat or a stool I could sit upon, too?” The soldier left and returned quickly with a sturdy tall stool for the priest.
“I’m glad you’ve come, Father,” said Nyira. “I was starting to get a little lonely.”
“I don’t see how that’s possible, Camille. You and I both know you could leave whenever you chose. Isn’t that right?”
“Yes,” replied Nyira, sitting down on the bunk in her cell to look upon the priest.”
Nyira and the Invisible Boy Page 23
