The Jumbie God's Revenge

by Tracey Baptiste

  Mama D’Leau and Corinne both screamed. The jumbie pulled at the spear, but its hook was designed to keep fish lodged in place. She wrapped the end of her tail around the wooden shaft and broke it off, but the tip remained firmly in place.

  Corinne slipped out of Pierre’s grasp and skidded on the wet sand as she ran back toward the jumbie. She moved into the water, just as another bolt of lightning tore across the sky and shot into the waves. Debris hit her face and body and the stirred-up sand obstructed her view. She couldn’t see anything beyond the reach of her hands.

  The jumbie writhed in the water. The force of her tail whipping wildly sent more sand and bubbles into Corinne’s eyes. One strong pulse tumbled Corinne backward. When she crashed into the seafloor, she had no idea how far she had been pushed. Her lungs burned for air. She swam for the surface. Both the island and Mama D’Leau were farther away than she had hoped, and with the rain coming down again, the surface of the water was rough and hard to navigate. She kept her eyes on the jumbie and swam. When she was close enough she dove again. Even in the dim light she could see a cloud of thick, red blood trailing from Mama D’Leau’s tail. Corinne followed it, trying to get her hands on the spear.

  What you doing? Mama D’Leau’s voice came strong and clear under the water, even though the jumbie never moved her mouth.

  Don’t move, Corinne thought.

  The jumbie slowed her movements enough for Corinne to get in closer. With every attempt Corinne made to pull the hook, Mama D’Leau’s muscled tail trembled and more blood erupted, clouding Corinne’s vision. She didn’t have the strength to pry the hook free. She surfaced again for another breath and dove to the spear again. This time, another pair of brown arms wrapped themselves around Mama D’Leau’s tail. Corinne’s papa had come. He held the jumbie steady and helped Corinne rock the spear back and forth until both the pointed tip and the curved hook had come free.

  White flesh stuck to the edges of the spear and another flood of dark blood came with it. Corinne and Pierre pushed for the surface, leaving the spear to fall to the bottom of the sea.

  The rain poured so hard they could barely see land. It was only the flicker of lamplight, like fireflies in the distance, that gave them direction. Pierre grabbed the back of Corinne’s shirt and pulled her along as he swam. He was the strongest swimmer Corinne knew, but when she looked at the shore after a time, it seemed no closer. Pierre took a deep breath and was about to start swimming again when something thick and tough shoved them, sending them tumbling to the edge of the water in an instant. They crawled to shore, spitting up sand and seawater. Victor glared mutely at them.

  Pierre picked Corinne up and ran for the hill. As she looked back, something in the clouds caught her eye. A dark shape took form, billowing and moving with the wind. It looked like a man at first, standing with his hands on his hips and his legs extending toward the sea. One of his legs looked like the long, slender tail of a fish, ending in a fin where a foot should have been. Then the dark clouds of the body rearranged themselves into a face. Lightning flashed, brightening the flat nose and cruel mouth, and sparkling in the wide-set eyes, making them sharp with rage, looking right at Corinne. Just as Corinne was about to show her papa, the clouds rearranged and the man was gone.

  Once they were inside the house, Pierre released Corinne from his grasp and panted. “Why would you do that?” he shouted. “Why?”

  Corinne was frozen to the spot. Her papa had never raised his voice like this before. Her throat felt thick and her chest burned. She opened her mouth to explain, but couldn’t think of what to say.

  “You left the house in a storm. You went into the water when lightning was flashing. You know better than this, Corinne.”

  “Yes, Papa,” she said. “I’m sorry.”

  “Sometimes you don’t think things through, Corinne. You just do them.” He dropped his body into the nearest chair and his head into the palms of his hands. “You keep putting yourself in danger. You will get hurt.”

  Corinne twisted the hem of her work shirt.

  “I’m sorry,” Pierre said. He got up and brought towels for them. He draped one over his shoulders and sopped Corinne’s wet hair with another. “I know you wouldn’t have gone out there unless you thought it was necessary.”

  “No, Papa.”

  “This is not the first time you have decided to do something without telling me.”

  “I know, Papa.”

  “So maybe this time you can let me know what’s going on,” he said. “Maybe I can even help.” He undid Corinne’s plaits. “What is it?”

  “I think Severine is back.”

  “You saw her?” Pierre asked, stiffening.

  “No, Papa. Not yet. But this storm came on fast, and the sea has never looked like that. I thought it was Mama D’Leau making trouble at first, but then she looked so frightened. I knew it had to be Severine.”

  “First you thought it was Mama D’Leau and now you’re sure it’s Severine.” Pierre frowned. “The storm is unusual,” he said. “I don’t have an explanation for why it happened so suddenly, or why there is lightning. But we have had storms before.”

  “This bad?” Corinne asked.

  Pierre’s jaw tightened. “Worse.” His voice was barely a whisper. He turned away, dipping his head under his own towel. He seemed to be wiping his eyes, but Corinne couldn’t be sure.

  “And you survived,” Corinne said.

  This time she saw his shoulders slump just slightly before he answered, “I did. But nothing is a guarantee, Corinne. Nature is more dangerous than any jumbie. Do you understand?”

  Corinne’s throat closed up. Her papa didn’t believe her. She couldn’t find the words to argue.

  “Stay close,” he said. “Promise.”

  She nodded.

  All night, the storm raged even more loudly than it had before the eye. Corinne huddled in the middle of the kitchen of the little house on the hill while the wind howled around them, prying at the boards they had nailed over the windows. The nails squeaked against the wood and the boards groaned with every gust. Pierre paced the house, frowning. When the lamps ran out of oil and the flames dulled and went out in a whimper of smoke, Corinne dragged herself to bed and tried to sleep.

  She stared at the ceiling as little white wood lizards darted up the walls and over her head, stopping every time the house shook. She wanted to tell them it would be all right, but the truth was, she wasn’t so sure. Her mind was filled with the images of Mama D’Leau bleeding in agony under the water, Victor’s angry face as he hurled the spear, and the man in the clouds that seemed to be looking down at the island with eyes bright as lightning.

  7

  The Crying Bride

  Sunlight slashed through the slats of wood nailed to Corinne’s bedroom window and forced her awake, but it was like swimming to the surface from fathoms below. When she finally blinked her eyes open, dust motes danced in the thin cuts of light. Everything smelled damp and fresh. She turned and swung her feet off the bed.

  In the outer rooms, the windows had already been opened, and Corinne squinted in bright light. She went to the kitchen with her nightgown flapping around her knees and heard hammering from outside. She pushed her feet into a pair of old leather slippers at the door to follow the sound.

  At the horizon, the sea was bright and beautiful, but nearer to shore, where the water was still stirred up from the storm, it remained a dull brown, a little darker than the sand. People were already out, picking through the muck, gathering up planks of wood and bits of galvanized roofs that had blown off their homes. The sound of waves crashing was punctuated by the calls of mothers below, warning small children to be careful as they wound their way across the beach.

  Corinne chilled. Months ago, she had seen the same scene, but with mothers calling for their missing children after the earthquake. She tensed.

&nb
sp; Pierre stopped his work. “It’s all right,” he said. “Everyone is accounted for.”

  Corinne felt some relief, but she couldn’t relax entirely. She turned to the potted plants that had fallen over near the back door. The ceramic was broken and sodden soil spilled across the damp grass. Corinne rocked the pepper plant upright and packed as much soil back into the damaged pot as it would hold. Then she turned to the other uprooted plants nearby. It looked as if the wind had curled fingers around each one and plucked them from the ground, leaving their roots exposed and baking in the sun. At the front of the house, several oranges had rolled in the dirt around the yard. Corinne gathered them up in the hem of her nightgown, carried them inside, and emptied them into the sink.

  Pierre followed her in. “Corinne,” he said. “I know I was harsh with you last night. What you did was dangerous. The island hasn’t seen a storm like this in a long time.” He looked at her gently. “You wouldn’t remember. You were just starting to walk. And we lost so much, Corinne.” He rubbed his hand on the back of her head. “There is so much to lose.”

  “I understand, Papa,” Corinne said. But she saw something like pain flash across his face. He wasn’t hurt over the broken windows and the uprooted plants. There was something else bothering him, something worse. “The storm is over, Papa,” she continued. “There is nothing to worry about.”

  But Pierre’s expression didn’t alter. Whatever was on his mind, he wouldn’t say.

  Once the yard had been cleaned up, Corinne headed to town. Much of the dirt road was washed away. Mud still flowed down the sides, spilling over rocks and broken wood, and burying leaves and the remains of fruit. Corinne hopped through the ruined path, slipping and skidding as she went. By the time she reached Hugo’s bakery, she was splashed in mud to her knees. Bouki and Malik waved her in through the front door.

  “Take off your sandals,” Bouki said.

  “When did you get so domesticated?” Corinne asked.

  “You can’t track mud into a place with food. Everybody knows that.”

  Corinne smiled and took off her shoes to go inside.

  Hugo pushed past a beaded curtain. His face brightened when he spotted Corinne. “I was wondering how long it would take you to get here,” he said. “How is your papa? And the house?”

  “We didn’t take too much damage,” Corinne said. “Papa is fixing some of the broken windows. How was it here?”

  “We’re in a good spot,” Bouki declared.

  Corinne suppressed a giggle. Not a few months ago, the brothers had lived in the caves in the foothills of a mountain. They had never wanted to live in a house, even one in a “good spot” like Hugo’s.

  “Are you hungry, Corinne?” Hugo asked.

  She shook her head. “I was just checking on you on my way—”

  “To see Dru?” Bouki finished.

  Malik looked up the road and shook his head.

  “Be careful,” Hugo said. “Some places really took a beating.”

  Corinne left the boys and Hugo and took the curving road toward Dru’s village. In several places, the path was cut off by fallen trees. It was a good thing Corinne had chosen her work clothes—a pair of her papa’s old pants rolled to her calves and an old shirt pushed up to her elbows—for the trek. She couldn’t possibly have traversed the muck in anything else. She scrambled over a tree trunk that lay across the market road and landed on the other side in a patch of leaves. With her next step, she heard a tiny squeak. She lifted her foot and a mouse no bigger than her thumb shot out of the pile of leaves and made for the forest. After that, Corinne moved more carefully, flicking away leaves with her toes before she stepped down to make sure she didn’t squish some other small creature. It made the going slow.

  When she turned on the road that went past the cane fields, there were no fallen trees, and the gravelly road was easier to navigate.

  Most of the sugarcane had survived. Some of it was bent or broken at the edges of the field. The cane in the center still held up tall and strong. The field toward the back was where Dru’s family worked, so Corinne was glad it still looked in good condition. But when she came to the entrance to Dru’s village, she froze.

  The houses in Dru’s village had never been sturdy. They were a collection of wood planks built on hard-packed clay, held together with screws and galvanized roofing that were sometimes also used as walls. Rust had eaten through some of the houses on their best day, but now the structures sagged and leaned and looked about to collapse.

  There were black flies everywhere, buzzing in patches over the carcasses of animals that hadn’t made it through the storm. In the gutter at the side of the road were a few fish, and up ahead was a bird that looked like it had fallen right out of the sky. Corinne gave each of them a wide berth.

  She spotted Mrs. Ramdeen standing outside her house with her hands on her hips, her head tilted at almost the same precarious angle as the front steps to her house. A small boy appeared in the doorway, and Mrs. Ramdeen’s hands flew up. “Don’t stand on those, Allan!”

  “Yes, Mama,” Allan said. He took a flying jump from the doorway into a patch of mud, which splashed him to his thighs and little brown shorts.

  “Hi, Allan,” Corinne said.

  “Corinne,” said Mrs. Ramdeen. “What are you doing so far from home? How did your house hold up?”

  “Okay. I’m looking for Dru.”

  Mrs. Ramdeen waved in the general direction of the rest of the village, which was strewn with boards. “Everybody is scattered, trying to salvage what they can from the mess.”

  “I can help you,” Corinne offered.

  “No,” she said. “You go find your friend. The whole family is probably at the wedding tent.”

  Corinne was sure the bamboo tent would have been knocked flat. But if they were attending to the tent, then maybe the Rootsinghs’ house was fine.

  “I’m going too, Mama,” Allan said.

  Mrs. Ramdeen stood with her hands on her hips and grunted in response. Corinne and Allan took that as a yes.

  They moved through the banging and sawing of repair work, noisy children, and scolding parents. The noise dimmed for just a moment or two as people recognized Corinne and paused. She was used to this. Ever since Severine had showed up in the village and people found out that the jumbie had been Corinne’s mother’s sister, Corinne had gotten sideways glances. Categorizing each stare became a game. There were three main varieties: suspicious, curious, and fearful. Corinne was still learning how to ignore the way each one made her feel small, but she combated that in the only way she could. She smiled and said, “Good morning,” but not everyone responded in kind.

  Allan wriggled his fingers into Corinne’s hand and waved brightly at everyone. By the time they got to the end of the road, Corinne was waving, too. She was just about to thank Allan for walking with her when they heard someone crying.

  She followed the noise to what was left of the bamboo tent that had been put up for the wedding of Dru’s eldest sibling, Fatima. Allan pulled away and went running into the half-fallen structure. The white tarp sagged to one side and was covered in mud. At the other side, bamboo was piled at angles like a fallen wicket. In the middle of the rubble, Fatima stood crying into the end of a blue sari. Allan ran around her, hopping over the bamboo and crawling under the ripped tarp.

  Fatima turned to watch him, paused her crying for a moment, then started again, louder than before.

  “She’s been like this all day and all night,” Dru said, sidling up to Corinne. Dru tucked her shoulder-length hair behind her ears. It was cut in a straight, blunt line that grazed her shoulder blades, an improvement over the shaggy edges she had worn the last few months. The hem of her yellow kurta was muddy, and there were flecks of dirt on her face and pieces of leaves in her hair.

  “Your house doesn’t look too bad,” Corinne said, gazing back
down the road.

  Dru’s eyes widened. “I thought the whole thing would fall in on us. The walls rattled all night. The goats crawled under the house and cried until everything stopped. It was impossible to sleep.”

  Corinne looked from Dru to her sister, to the mama goat and kids that were bounding through the bamboo with Allan. “Who was louder? Fatima or the goats?”

  “Who do you think?” Dru asked.

  As if on cue, Fatima wailed. The younger girls burst out laughing and Fatima cut an eye at them.

  “You just wait until one of you grows up and gets married!” Fatima yelled. “I’ll be sure to laugh at you then! I hope there’s a storm, too, that blows down your whole wedding tent.” She began to cry again.

  Dru and Corinne tiptoed away.

  “I’m glad you’re all okay,” Corinne said.

  “And you?” Dru asked. “Things must be worse close to the sea.”

  “The house is fine.”

  “But?” Dru prodded.

  Corinne leaned in and whispered, “I went to the sea. I saw Mama D’Leau.”

  “She came out?”

  “I called her.”

  Dru shuddered. “Why?”

  “I thought she had something to do with all this.”

  Dru took a breath and put both arms on Corinne’s shoulders. “You have been looking out to sea for months.” She glanced up at the sky. “This had nothing to do with the sea.”

  Corinne nodded. “I know. You’re right.”

  Dru’s mouth dropped open and her eyebrows shot up high.

  “Don’t look so surprised.”

  “I’m not used to you being anything but stubborn once you get an idea in your head,” Dru said. Then she squinted at Corinne. “How come you agreed with me so fast? What happened when you saw Mama D’Leau?”

  “She was afraid,” Corinne said. “But what could frighten a jumbie?”

  8

  Not a Jumbie

  “Are you two going to stand there all day?” Mrs. Rootsingh passed the girls, carrying a basket on her head. “Come and help, unless you want to listen to Fatima bawl forever and ever.”