Dark Shadows: Angelique's Descent

by Lara Parker

  The ceremony became more familiar. She stayed hidden in the room behind the altar while the drums pounded and the chanting rose in pitch. At times even she was mesmerized by the timbre of the drumming, like the sound of thunder in the sky. After she appeared on the platform, the wild dancing became less frenzied, and the slaves became more gentle, as if their grief dissolved in her presence. The men surrounded her, their gleaming eyes fastened to her, and she felt clothed in their adoration. Often their hands would reach up and touch her feet or her fingers. It did not frighten her, for they softened when they touched her and became less angry.

  There were times when she herself could not help being drawn into the frenzy. The odors of the candles, the perfumes, the sweating bodies, the smoke and flickering lights, the incessant drumming, sucked her into the spell being woven around her. She would feel pulses of heat that poured into her and out of her, and she would be aroused by her need to take into her body their betrayal along with her own. Then she would plunge into a well of despair. Her fists would clench, her form would grow rigid, tears would stream down her cheeks, and she would scream in agony, then, finally, go limp, fainting into grief.

  * * *

  Early one morning she woke with a clearer head than usual. She heard Thais lift the latch and enter stealthily with the tray of food. The dawnlight was glowing at the window, and the sky was lavender. Morning birdsong was faint in the air. Thais’s dress was sprinkled with faded flowers, and her hair was tied in a blue scarf. She turned and smiled a little nervously, seeing that Angelique was awake.

  “Well, chile, you wake up? Mornin’, an’ no rain be comin’ down. You gone be eatin’ now an’ get a solid meal in you belly. Today you be goin’ to town.” Thais eyed her nervously. “Come along now, dearie. I gots to put you in the rose-colored dress. You like that? You a little mo’ awake than usual, ain’t ya? You be a good girl, now, y’hear?”

  Angelique pushed the plate of food off the table, and it clattered to the floor. Thais gasped.

  “Oh, Lord. What for you do that?”

  “Because the food makes me sleep all the time!”

  Thais looked guilty. “Well, now, that may be true, honey,” she said. “But it be for the best. Frog when he sleepin’ don’ know the snake come. Now you gots to eat, or I be’s in big trouble!”

  “But I want to be awake. How long have I been sleeping? Weeks? Months?”

  Thais sat beside Angelique and placed an arm around her. Her heavy body made the bed sag, and her soft face hung under her liquid eyes. A faint, but not unpleasant odor came from her, an odor of smoke and pig fat. She started to speak but, instead, threw her two hands in the air and looked up to the ceiling.

  “Oh, Lordy … Lordy…” she exclaimed as she rubbed her rounded thighs and sighed.

  Angelique suddenly remembered a dream from the night before. Her father had been in her room and he had come to her bed and stared down at her angrily. “She is too drugged!” he had said. “She must be more awake for the ceremony. She’s like a zombie! Sleepwalking!”

  “Why do you drug me?” she asked Thais.

  “Listen, my little one, listen to me. What was I supposed to do? You’s a crazy l’il thing, you is. You ran from Suzette. An’ you scare the dickens out o’ me.” Then Thais’s words came flying in a rush. “The Massa he be angry and hollerin’ at me. He say, ‘Why she so sleepy!’ and I say, ‘She gots to be, or she run off!’ ‘But she no good,’ he say, ‘she go droopin’ that way, she not lookin’ like the goddess, or nuthin’.’ An’ I say, ‘Well, you tell me to keep her clean an’ not let her run off. You say she run off and you take off my hide.’ An’ he will, you understand. When you run down the stair that first night, he beat Suzette. Beat her bad. Oh, she hate you now. She got a hard heart for you, and you best look out when she be around. She say, ‘Give her the nightshade, put the verbena in her juice!’ So’s I puts the powder, just a little, to keep you mindin’.”

  Thais was becoming more agitated. “But the Massa, he not happy either way, you see. He want you more spunky. The only reason you are awake is that las’ night he tol’ me not to give you none o’ the drink! An’ today, you gots to go into the town and Massa Bouchard wants you to be lively. So, we gots to watch you so’s you can’t run off.” Then she sighed and gave Angelique a hug. “The truth is, I’s glad to see you’s awake.” She rose, moved to a walnut wardrobe, and opened it. “Looky here at this pretty dress.”

  Thais took out a pale rose-colored frock from tissue paper and laid it on the bed. It was made of watered silk taffeta, embroidered with leaves and green trailing stems that curved around the neckline and traveled to the hem of the skirt. The bodice was lined with tiny pleats, and satin roses were worked into the gathers of the sleeves. The dress was not new. Little tucks at the waist and the faint traces of seams let out and taken in again showed that the dress had been worn by others. Still, it was the prettiest dress Angelique had ever seen.

  “You been to Carnival, honey?” said Thais, coaxing her out of her shift.

  “Carnival? Oh, my mother takes me every year.”

  “Everyone, slaves, massas, all the mulattoes be there. This dress come all the way from Paris, France. What you think about that?”

  The dress slid over Angelique’s head with a swishing sound, and the silk stuck to her skin. She stroked the fabric with her fingers, drinking in the rosy color. It was the first color of the morning.

  Thais adorned her lavishly. She fastened golden bracelets made of tiny bells around Angelique’s wrists and ankles. She arranged flowers, creamy frangipani and snowy tuberose in her yellow hair. A scarlet amaryllis fell into her lap. Angelique looked into the center of the flower and studied its fragile petals, its delicate inner parts. She touched the tip of the pistil, and the pollen dust settled on her finger.

  She turned to Thais. “Please don’t make me sleep anymore.”

  “Oh, Jesus, honey—”

  “I want to be awake.”

  “Well, I hate it, yes I do. I be so sorry to see you like that, and you such a young thing. But you know seven year no wash the speckle off the guinea hen. You be goin’ to run off, I jus’ know.”

  “No, I won’t run away.”

  “You promise me?”

  “Yes. I promise.”

  “You do this for me.”

  “And for Erzulie.”

  “What about Erzulie, sugar?”

  “I want the goddess to come to me. If she thinks I am pretending to be her, then maybe she will come into my head, and I will know her.”

  Thais stared at Angelique, a poignant look on her face, and then her expression softened. She drew the child into her arms and held her close.

  “Maybe she will do that,” she said in a low voice. “Maybe she get jealous and come. That would be jus’ like her, too. And then you be fine.”

  After a long wagon ride, Angelique and Thais reached Saint-Pierre. The sounds of Carnival, flutes and whistles, drums and songs hummed in the air. There were throngs of people, not only slaves dressed in costume or in their hand-me-down finery, but also the blancs, watching or taking part in the joyful celebration. Angelique was hidden in her carrier, and her father surprised her when he came to the curtain and looked in.

  “Stay out of sight until nightfall and the worship begins,” he said in a sharp voice.

  The cavalcade began, and she was jostled by her bearers as though she were riding on top of a lame donkey. It was hot in the carrier and hard to breathe. She could hear drums, gourd rattles, and tambourines, shouting and singing and the sound of many footsteps. She longed to see it all. She clung to the bamboo structure of her crate and could not resist peeking through a tiny opening in the drapery. A great number of slaves surrounded her carrier, waving white flags and banners with the pierced red heart, and chanting, “Erzulie, nain, nain.”

  She saw a group of slaves, skulls painted on their black faces with a white paste. These living skeletons played flutes made of bamboo and danced with
abandon, chanting a song to the god of the gate. One of these macabre creatures stuck his head into her carrier, and she drew back in fright, but he laughed rudely and danced away.

  They passed the grand theater, and, on the beautiful curving steps, she glimpsed other slaves in white pantaloons, ruffled collars, and pointed hats. Their cheeks were painted with rosy rouge, their eyes circled in kohl. Then she saw something amazing: a handsome group of mulattoes decked out in what must have been the abandoned finery of landowners: European silk dresses and feathered hats, satin shoes with bows and striped waistcoats, and, most shocking of all, glittering jewels. She could not imagine who they were, but they were as exquisite as a painting come to life.

  Deep drums and shouts announced another crowd of white-robed figures carrying a much larger platform than hers. Teetering on the top of the platform was a large effigy, fashioned out of straw, but clothed in black. His huge face was painted yellow, and three red horns protruded from his head. He was the King of the Carnival, and she remembered how frightened she had been the first time she had seen this paper giant with his toothy grin.

  When they reached the part of the town closest to the wharf, they turned down the road toward the woods. She peered out at the docks, where groups of fishermen and sailors were coming to join the fete. There was a tall ship in the harbor flying a flag she had never seen, with red-and-white stripes and white stars on a field of blue, and near the largest warehouse she saw a group of soldiers in scarlet jackets. They shouted and dashed to catch the parade. She tried to follow them as they were caught in the crowd, and she was reminded of a school of red fish feeding in the current, moving as one creature, scattering then regathering as they wove the seaweed with their bright forms. The soldiers thrilled her, and she leaned out farther not to miss the flash of black boots and white waistbands, or the gleam of brass buttons and silver swords.

  The platform carrying the giant effigy wobbled down the road in front of her. The carriers careened back and forth in a swaying motion, letting the clumsy figure fall perilously close to the ground before righting it again, and shouting back and forth to confuse and discourage evil spirits. Now the soldiers, slapping and shoving one another, ran behind it, and called out, “Ah-h-h-h-h-h…” each time the figure tilted. Angelique realized as she drew closer that the militia were actually teenage boys. Their boisterous banter betrayed their ages, and she saw several loose shirttails and muddy breeches. She longed to keep watching them, but she feared her father’s wrath and sank back into her dark casement and pulled her curtain closed.

  When she felt the chaise set down on the ground, she dared to peek out again. The whole procession had entered the forest, and they were now in a large clearing with an enormous bonfire ready at its center. Her enclosure was set back in the trees, and Angelique ached to descend from the carrier; it was cruel torture that she must remain out of sight. At least there was so much happening that she was not the only attraction, she thought.

  Torches lit on tall posts flamed in front of the dark trees. Drums were set up before the bonfire, and several drummers began to beat out their infectious rhythms, booming, brittle, or staccato.

  Sudden cheers rang out from a group of men, and she strained to see what caused their excitement. In their midst, two rust-scarlet cocks leapt and fluttered, their bloody talons slashing the air. A cockfight! She leaned farther out and realized her entourage had wandered off. Only Thais was drawing a white sheet over four poles to make her altar. Her father was nowhere in sight.

  She saw the soldiers again only a short distance away. One was tall and slim, with a trim mustache and a small beard. He seemed older, an officer, for his uniform was in good repair and a sword hung at his side. The others huddled near him, crying out in disbelief or amazement at all they saw. She overheard them call him by the name Jeremiah, and realized he was in charge of this unruly gang. He smiled and nodded, cupping his chin in his hand and treating the boys with familiarity. One handsome boy in particular seemed a closer companion than the others; she saw the officer grin at the youth and tousle his curly hair.

  Then the two turned and looked toward her carrier, and the boy stared at her with great curiosity. He made a move to approach, but the officer must have called him back because he suddenly turned, and she heard, “Here, here, you scoundrel! Come away from there!” She was surprised to hear English spoken.

  She pulled the curtain open a little more. The young man was standing by the officer, and speaking quietly with him, nodding in her direction. The older man shook his head vehemently and put an arm about the boy’s shoulder, leading him away. She was still watching when the young man looked back, and this time he caught her eye. For an instant he remained still, gazing at her with a sense of amazement. Then he did a very odd thing. He pursed his lips and, lifting his chin, kissed the air in her direction.

  At that moment the torch was laid to the bonfire, which erupted in fire, flooding the giant effigy with flame. The garish yellow face seemed to glow from within, the eyes like coals, the mouth slowly opening in a diabolical grin. Leaping bodies waving torches tumbled into the circle, chanting their hypnotic song, glowing limbs undulating with the drums. Angelique pulled the curtain shut and closed her eyes until the cadence entered her body and the throbbing was the beat of her own heart.

  “Hallo in there.”

  She started. The whisper was near, just outside the drape, but it was a boy’s voice, teasing and intimate. She shrank back at the sound, pulling herself into the corner. She waited, afraid to breathe, only to see the curtain slowly part as a shaft of light fell on her face. She snatched the curtain closed, but in a moment the drapery inched open again, and this time she did not move.

  “Hallo…” he whispered. “I just want to look at you.” He was standing quite close to her, an impudent expression on his face. It was a wonderful face, finely formed, with piercing black eyes, strong brows, and a scattering of freckles across his nose.

  “I’ve never seen a real goddess,” he said.

  She was terrified that her father would return at any moment, and she stared at the boy, not knowing what to do. He was smiling, and his teeth were very white, and there was just the hint of a downy mustache on his upper lip. Brown curls tinged with gold fell loosely on his forehead, and his dark eyes flicked over her face as though he were looking at something wondrous. Suddenly he grinned a grin that would have been wicked if it had not been so mischievous. Finally she found her voice and whispered in English, “What do you want?”

  “Why to talk to you, of course. What do you think?”

  “You are not allowed to speak to the goddess.”

  “But you aren’t a real goddess, are you?”

  Heat rose to her face, and her fingertips tingled. His words made her angry.

  “Yes, I am! I am Erzulie, the goddess of love.”

  He threw back his head and laughed. “What a jolly good prank! Better than the man who could make fire! Jeremiah said you were dangerous, that I should not come near you. So naturally, I couldn’t resist. But, look at you. You wouldn’t harm a rabbit.”

  “Why don’t you believe me?”

  “Why? Because I can see in an instant, even with the paint around your eyes, that you are a real girl, flesh and blood. And you are such a dazzling creature that I don’t mind in the least. Ah! What a great adventure!”

  “Go away!” she wailed, but it was more of a sob caught in her throat. He was the first person, other than Thais and her father, to speak to her in such a long time, and he was so familiar and so brash, that her throat tightened until the muscles in her neck hurt.

  At her distress, his smile faded instantly, and a look of grave concern shadowed his face.

  “Oh, I’m so very sorry. I didn’t mean to frighten you. I was the one who was supposed to be afraid! Oh, come, come, please don’t cry. You really mustn’t.”

  But the tears fell onto her cheeks, and she was helpless to stop them as she tried to swallow but could not get past th
e choking lump in her throat.

  Before she knew what was happening, the boy had climbed into her carrier and pulled the curtain closed. For a moment it was dark, and she sat paralyzed, aware only that his warm body was very near and that he smelled of the sea. Then she could see his face even closer than before, and he frowned and spoke haltingly.

  “I—I—is it because I am a soldier? You mustn’t mind this silly uniform. It’s only from my school. Perhaps you think I meant to insult you. Well, it’s true, I did. And I’m the very devil.” He smiled at her again, and, taking the end of his shirt cuff in his fingers, he dabbed at her cheeks. Finishing that, he stared at her, newly dazed. “Why, your eyes are the color of cornflowers. And they are so big and worried. I suppose you think we came to fight the French and conquer your island.”

  “Are … you from England?” she said in a small voice.

  “No. New England, silly! The fine territory of Maine. I came with my schoolmates on a seagoing excursion, to learn all about sailing and boats. I wanted to go to Africa, but my father refused permission. He’s afraid of the middle passage, you see.”

  “And … did you learn anything?” she asked in a small voice.

  “Oh, yes. That sailing is the hardest kind of labor, and tedious besides, crashing on the waves all through the night. I was seasick the entire time. Jeremiah brought us to the islands, but only the English ones of course. We heard there was Carnival here at Martinique. I begged him that we might be allowed to come. And I’m very glad we did, because I was able to see you, and…” He lost himself a moment in looking at her, then he blurted out, “I say! Has your volcano ever erupted? What is its name? Piley, or Paley?”

  Angelique, amazed by his presence, and drowning in the unexpected flow of words, realized he was waiting for a reply.