by Sarah Lark
This seemed to excite the people who were near the fire, and they sang, danced, and cried out even louder. Adwea handed Nora the jug of liquor again. Nora accepted it as if she were in a trance. She had never drunk so much in her life, but she did not feel tired, but more excited. This ritual should have disgusted her — and it did disgust her when the Obeah man now repeated the slaughter with a second chicken and threw the dying animal towards Akwasi. The young man caught it and let the blood flow into the kettle, as the magic man continued singing and chanting his incantations.
For a moment, Nora wondered if she might be at a marriage ceremony. Had Akwasi finally proposed to Máanu? And were the betrothed being joined in this bloody way? However, Máanu looked perplexed. She seemed surprised by Akwasi’s participation in the ceremony. But then she continued singing and dancing just as ecstatically as the other slaves. Smoke and the stench of blood and herbs spread slowly throughout the entire barn. It took away Nora’s breath and ability to think. She was only feeling, and singing, and drumbeat, she seemed to be outside of her body. Adwea handed her the jug once more.
The Obeah man now took his concoction from the fire, dipped a sort of besom into it, and splashed the followers. Some of them were writhing on the floor.
“Spirit in them. Possess them,” Adwea explained, calmly.
The old cook watched the goings-on, largely unconcerned. She seemed to have no interest in coming in contact with the magic liquid. The rum, however, she drank like water.
Nora watched with her eyes anxiously widened, but without moving a muscle, even as one of her house servants fell to the floor shrilly screaming and a kitchen maid cried hysterically. Nora was paralyzed, torn between being the healer who wanted to end this and take care of the visibly suffering people, and the disembodied being that hung off the Obeah man’s words and accepted the possession of the people as a matter of course. And another part of her desperately searched for her own spirit that she had so often summoned. Simon had promised to stay with her, but where was he now that she needed him? Apparently, it was quite easy for the other dead spirits to materialize in front of the living. Some of the men and women seemed to finally be seeing the Duppies of their deceased relatives. They greeted them ecstatically, after they had rubbed something in their eyes and then glanced over their left shoulder.
“Water from the eye of dog,” Adwea explained, with complete composure.
Nora briefly considered asking one of them for a bit of it and then had to giggle hysterically. She was crazy, she had to be crazy. It was already crazy to summon spirits, but even worse that she couldn’t push the image of Doug Fortnam’s face out of her mind’s eye …
Nora took another sip from the jug that Adwea handed her, when she realized she was crying.
The people continued dancing and singing, but the sounds of drumming, and hooting, and howling slowly faded away. The fire burned down, the people that were possessed straightened themselves up in a daze, as the spirits left their bodies. All of them, except those that Akwasi and Máanu had summoned. Their time was just about to come.
CHAPTER 9
For Akwasi, the meeting with Nora after the ceremony, presented the greatest difficulty. Kwadwo had left no doubt about it: the love hungry Duppy could only enter the body of his beloved if he presented her to him.
Akwasi had suppressed this problem until this point, but now, intoxicated and emboldened by magic and alcohol, he knew what he had to do. Nora was alone in the big house, and it was late at night. She must have long been asleep, and would not hear it if he broke in. Perhaps the kitchen entrance was not locked at all, and if it was, he only needed a simple tool to prise it open. And in the house, Akwasi knew where Doug had his room and where Elias slept. Nora had almost certainly been given the rooms from Doug’s mother. And Akwasi had also been there once a long time ago — together with Doug, in search of adventure. Now it all seemed a happy coincidence that a Duppy was leading him by the hand. Akwasi headed towards the door between the stables and the barn to look for a crowbar.
Nora had halfway-regained consciousness when Adwea got up. Even the other slaves were slowly making their way home. Nora forced herself to think again. It was best if she disappeared before someone spotted her.
Nora whispered thanks to Adwea and then retreated back to the stables. She could wait with her friendly mules for a while until everything was quiet. After the long work day and the Obeah night, the slaves would surely go home quickly and then sleep like the dead. Nora could then pass through their quarters safely. Nora’s head was still ringing from the drums, and she was so dizzy from the liquor that it was hard for her to move. Did she really want to slide open the door of the mule shed? The hay seemed inviting. If she just sat down here and rested a bit … maybe just closed her eyes for a heartbeat …
Máanu saw Akwasi get up shakily and go to the stalls. She wondered what he wanted there, but it was a happy coincidence either way. It was quiet and dry with the animals; no one would disturb them. She considered whether she should follow him right away or wait a while. The alcohol, heat, the smoke, and the dancing often made people sick, and it would really be anything but romantic if she were to catch Akwasi with his head over the privy or passing water in the oxen stables.
So, Máanu left some time before following after Akwasi. Then she also wouldn’t be seen by Adwea, who had been sitting at front of the door to the stables. Adwea always stayed far from the sacrificial altar in the middle of the circle. She had enough of her own spirits, as she used to say, she didn’t need to summon any more. Adwea was happy when the spirit world left her in peace. She would certainly not approve of Máanu’s attempt to conquer Akwasi, and not only because of the stolen chicken.
Akwasi opened the door to the stables. His eyes needed a bit of time to get accustomed to the darkness. It was not quite as dark as in the barn, however, as the stalls were opened on one side and the full moon shone in. Struggling in the aftermath of the trance that came along with the dancing and drinking; he almost stumbled over a person who was partially wrapped in a dark cloth and lay sleeping on a pile of hay. Surely it was someone who had over done it with the rum. Akwasi decided to awaken them otherwise; he or she would probably sleep there the whole night and be found by an overseer in the morning.
Akwasi bent over and pulled the cloth from the sleeping person’s face.
Nora opened her eyes as he whispered her name in disbelief, but she didn’t recognize the face that bent over her. Instead, so many faces blurred before her eyes. Simon? The slave, Akwasi? Or Doug?
“Doug,” Nora whispered. Her voice sounded muffled and barely understandable. “What …? How …?”
Akwasi’s heart beat violently. Akwasi — she had said his name without a doubt! He took her in his arms.
Nora felt someone pulling her up against his chest. Strange that the skin she was pressed up against seemed black. A dark voice whispered affections. And large, firm hands were suddenly groping her, making pleasant shivers run through her body. She had felt a twinge of this arousal when she was with Simon — and in the afternoon, guiltily daydreaming that Doug could awaken it again. Was he doing that now? Was this also a dream? But the lips that caressed her after the man had laid her back in the hay were dark; the hands that opened her dress were black. Akwasi? A slave?
Nora was intoxicated when Akwasi raised her towards him. And when she closed her eyes, she couldn’t even tell who was giving her such excitement. In any case, the man knew a bit about what he was doing. After only a few kisses and caresses, Nora burned as she never had before. Simon’s shy affections, Elias’ casual intercourse … Nothing had prepared her for such an explosion of sensations.
“Nora, my Nora …”
Akwasi whispered endearments, but was hardly surprised when the young woman didn’t respond. After all, the Duppy was in her now — it was only when he had satisfied his desire for love that she would become herself again. And he had to do it well. Not only to avoid angering the Duppy and
causing it to prematurely escape — he had to leave his mark on Nora’s body, awaken desire in her heart and down there, deep inside her, where only his sex could penetrate. Akwasi stroked and kissed her — took much more time that he did with the slave girls, with whom he’d previously pleasured himself.
Finally, Akwasi gently, but powerfully entered Nora — personally, he would have preferred to have it faster and rougher, less wet. The men from Africa said that the dryer a girl stayed, the more virtuous she was. But Akwasi knew that the girls appreciated a longer build up. Especially since Nora’s behavior said nothing about her virtue in this case, but mostly about the Duppy inside of her. Akwasi did his best to satisfy both the spirit and the woman. Nora should also long for him on the coming day.
Máanu entered the stable at the very moment that Nora reared up under Akwasi. Not putting up a fight, no, sensually. There were no lights in the barn; the girl came out from the darkness into the moonlit stable. Her eyes didn’t need any time to adjust. At most, Máanu needed a few heartbeats to realize what was going on. Akwasi’s powerful body over the woman was not to be mistaken. But with whom was he cheating on her? Which girl had got to him first?
Máanu felt blazing anger rising within her. There were not many young women on the plantation and most of them knew what she was planning. So, if one of them ambushed Akwasi or followed him before Máanu with the intention of reviving an enchantment — or seduce him for herself! Without the risk of a stolen chicken! Máanu was just about to tear the man of her dreams away from the girl when she recognized who lay with Akwasi. She put her hand over her mouth.
So, it was the missis — the missis had cast a spell on Akwasi! It was worse than anything that Máanu could have imagined … It was … devious … evil to the core! But Máanu knew that the whites were not to be trusted. She had known that they needed blacks for their games — and not only the backra, as she now realized. Not only the cursed backra, but also his wife, Nora, who she had taken for a friend!
Máanu felt the deepest disgust. She stepped back before the two could see her, and fled. It was better that way. No one would see how she felt. No one should know how greatly Akwasi had humiliated her … although; Akwasi was certainly just the innocent victim. Máanu calmed her racing heart. Of course, she must have pointed the Duppy straight to him, having kept her eyes on him for the entire ceremony. The spirit was inside of him and Nora was shamelessly taking advantage!
Máanu would never have thought that Nora knew so much about their customs. But Máanu was probably not the only girl that she had pumped for information. Maybe she also whispered with the sick, possibly with women from other plantations that wanted nothing good for Máanu. Máanu’s brain feverishly pictured one scene after another. But no matter how Nora had learned of the matter or how she had succeeded, Akwasi was in her power. It was the most evil and sinister abuse and betrayal!
Nora was worked up as Akwasi withdrew from her. Her blood was racing through her veins, her heart pounded — she slowly awoke from the half-sleep. She opened her eyes and saw Akwasi.
“You?” she asked, in disbelief.
The memories of what she had done, or had allowed be done, ran through her head.
Akwasi nodded proudly. “Did you like it?” he asked. “Oh, yes, you liked it, I recognize you now; the spirit has left you. Will you love me from now on, Nora? Will we now … be together?”
Nora rubbed her forehead, her head aching. This could not be reality — the man was talking nonsense. But, on the other hand, it felt more real. His sweat on her skin, their bed of hay, the beaming, triumphant face above her. Akwasi did not seem guilt-stricken.
Nora sat up. She had to think clearly now and she ought not to make a big issue of this … incident? Accident? Mistake? Dream? Whatever she wanted to call it, they would both have to forget it. She didn’t know what the penalties were for the defilement of a white woman, but it was quite likely that slaves were hanged for it. And it was not worth all that. Especially, since Akwasi didn’t even have to force her.
Nora was ashamed and vaguely felt a growing sense of guilt. She had encouraged the young man by not resisting. But it could be undone. No one had to know about it and, more importantly, no one should die for it.
“Akwasi, I don’t know what came over me,” she began.
Akwasi grinned. “But I do, Missis, Nora. It was a spirit, a Duppy. He took possession of your body after I asked it of him. But now he is gone — if you want we can do it again now. Or tomorrow night, or—”
“Akwasi, hold your tongue, you’re mad!” Nora cried. “This can cost you your head and my reputation — I can’t even imagine what the backra would do to us both! So, go to your hut now. I’ll stay here a bit, but don’t you dare ambush me! No one will see us together and of course, this is never to be repeated! Duppies! We will not talk about spirits or stolen chickens again in the future. We won’t talk anymore, Akwasi! Stay out of my way from now on!”
Akwasi wanted to respond, but Nora glared at him.
“I don’t want to threaten you, Akwasi!” she said, sternly. “But one word to the backra that you so much as looked at me lustfully—”
Akwasi stood up. “I love you, Missis—”
Nora was relieved that he had at least let go of the familiar form of address. “That will change again,” she told him quietly. “This is not love, Akwasi, it’s infatuation,” she paused briefly when she realized that she had repeated her father’s words, but then went on. “So, forget me, Akwasi. Fall in love with Máanu — she has long pined after you.”
With that, she stood up, Akwasi made no move to leave the stable, and Nora was the first to go. She felt a vague fear in leaving him behind. The planters’ wives always quietly talked about girls and women who were raped and even killed when the slaves got out of control. But Nora didn’t believe that Akwasi would go that far. Akwasi was civilized. He could read and write. He would not be so completely ruled by his impulses and disappointment.
Akwasi stayed behind in the stable, dumbstruck by what he’d heard. It hadn’t helped. It was not as he’d hoped; he had never been a man to her. Nora saw him like all the others — as a possession, a slave whose love could be nothing more than childlike infatuation. And now she was gone, she had threatened him. For the first time, she had acted just like every other missis. Akwasi didn’t even think about taking revenge on Nora. Not yet. He didn’t even feel angry, but instead extreme, deepest, darkest despair. The young slave lay back in the hay. He could not go to his hut now. He wouldn’t allow the other boys to see his body shake from sobbing.
Akwasi cried. For the first time since Doug had betrayed him.
Nora returned to her house, trembling and upset like never before. In the kitchen garden she found a bucket, filled it with water from the creek, and pulled off her dress to wash Akwasi’s smell from her body. She did not find it repulsive as she did Elias’s, but she wanted to erase any memory of this experience — it just couldn’t be. She would even throw the dress away.
Nora only calmed down when she was finally wrapped in her clean nightgown between the cool silk sheets of her bed. She didn’t want to think about how this all could have happened — if perhaps a spirit had entered her body, or if she were merely possessed by Douglas Fortnam and, wanting to cast him off, gave into Akwasi. Expulsion of a spirit by means of another … Nora almost laughed. But if it had been a Duppy, the smoke, the drums, or the rum: she would forget about it and thank God that there had been no witnesses.
BETRAYAL
Jamaica
Spring to fall 1733
CHAPTER 1
Doug Fortnam had been riding through the Blue Mountains for nearly two weeks and had grown entirely weary of the matter, though not the scenery. Even as a child, he had dreamed of exploring the mountain chain, which was covered in blue fog nearly every morning before it dissipated over the course of the day. The ever-changing vegetation, the rivers, and streams that ran above and below ground; the ravines and hills, c
aves and waterfalls, all fascinated him. He often regretted not being able to draw. Nora would have been happy, if he could have depicted all of it for her: the wild flowers and lush jungle plants further up, which gave way to the tougher and more robust plants lower down, like lichens and mosses. Sometimes he dreamed of her serious face when she studied her books and her beaming smile when she had found a plant and could identify it. He also imagined taking this ride with her — preferably with good weather, when the sun was shining through the canopy down onto them and cast shadows on the paths.
The strange expedition in which he reluctantly took part, however, happened to take place in the middle of the rainy season. Doug hadn’t managed to convince the planters to postpone the enterprise for a month or two. Essentially, it didn’t matter if they searched the area now or later, at least, as far as the goal of the operation was concerned. If Doug had even expected the slightest bit of contact with the enemy, he would have been worried on top of it. After all, the horses often had to grope around on the muddy ground, making riding arduous, and rapid attack or escape, impossible. The nearly constant downpour also made the already poor visibility even worse. But all of the men who had taken the ride on a whim had probably never been inland and had been blindly counting on the consistent climate of Kingston — and the wind on the sea, which often drove out the constant rains.
In the Blue Mountains — especially the eastern part — it rained almost every day, even in the dryer months. The area owed its paradisiacal plant diversity to the extensive irrigation. For the riders, that now meant constant dampness. Even when it hadn’t just rained, the broad, fleshy leaves dripped water down on them from the trees. Amigo, Doug’s Spanish stallion, seemed to take it very personally. He reluctantly continued and kept trying to put his head between his front legs to let the water run off of his forehead. Doug couldn’t blame him; his own felt hat was already soaked through, the water running over the brim and onto his face. Amigo also had to put up with the rain at night, since the horses were tied up in the open air. Doug and the other men had tents that they couldn’t dry from the nightly rainfall before they folded them up in the morning. So, they were already damp by the second night and began to mold on the third. Just like the covers and just like the supplies.
