by Kira Saito
I extended my arms and took in the damp smell and sound of the wild animals and…
“Help me please,” whispered a voice with a heavy French accent. It totally interrupted my moment of liberation.
I hid behind an intimidating cypress trees and crouched down on my knees. I wasn’t naïve enough to answer. One wrong move could mean death or capture and there was no way I was going back to that plantation.
“Please. I beg you, please help me.”
I didn’t respond.
“Please. I’ll do anything. Help me.”
I let out a tired sigh and rolled my eyes. Wow. Who knew Marie was an eye roller too? I slowly got up from the ground and eyed my surroundings.
“Who are you?” I asked. “Where are you?”
“I’m dying. I’m dying. Please stay with me. I don’t want to die alone.” The voice was barely audible.
I always thought that dying alone was the most tragic thing that could happen to a person, so I felt bad for whoever was about to die.
“Where are you?” I asked again.
“Over here. To your right.”
Slowly, I walked to my right until I almost hit the edge of the swamp. The moon shone down on the dark water and cast an eerie glow on the mystery figure.
There in front of me lay a man who wasn’t much older than me, perhaps twenty or so. His dark hair was caked with mud and his skin was an unsightly shade of yellow and bronze. It wasn’t the type of bronze that came from a sun tan, but the type that indicated he was dying from yellow fever. As I got closer I saw that dark blood was gushing from his mouth and nose. His white shirt was unbuttoned and torn. His eyes fell on me and my heart unwillingly fluttered. Even though he was dying, his gaze was strong and determined. Despite the fact he was covered in mud and blood he was still the most beautiful man I’d ever laid eyes on.
I instantly got down on my knees and brushed away the strands of hair that were stuck to his high cheekbones. “What possessed you to run off into a swamp when you’ve got the fever?” I asked.
He looked at me and gave me a smile that made his eyes gleam. Even through his pain he was alive. “So I could die in your presence, Ma Cheri. Come lie down beside me and help me count the stars.”
At this point, Arelia would have rolled her eyes again, but Marie didn’t. As Marie, I smiled and let out a girly laugh. I couldn’t remember the last time anyone had given me a compliment like they truly meant it. I hadn’t laughed for so long that the ring of my own laughter was foreign to my ears. No one had ever invited me to look at the stars with them. I lay down beside him and looked up at the canopy of twinkling stars and for the first time really noticed them.
“How many stars do you suppose there are?” he asked.
“I don’t think we’re meant to know the answer to that. It’s a mystery.”
“What is your name?” he asked, as his eyes met mine.
“Marie.”
“Marie. Marie. M'ange de le lux,” he sang. “How did you find me, Marie? I’ve dreamt of you my entire life.”
My cheeks glowed and immediately knew that I couldn’t let him die. “What is your name?”
“Jacques.”
“You’re not from Louisiana, are you, Jacques?”
He shook his head. “I’m from Paris.”
He took his warm hand into mine. His fingers were long and graceful like they belonged to a pianist or a painter. It was the first time I held hands with a man, and it filled my stomach with butterflies. We looked at the stars in silence but with every passing second I could feel his energy slipping away and Papa Ghede calling his name.
“Have you ever been to Paris?”
“I’ve never been anywhere.”
“I’d take you to the stars if I could. We would bounce from star to star.”
I let out a big laugh. “I prefer the moon over the stars.”
“Well then we could bounce from the stars to the moon and then back again. There are no rules when it comes to the stars and moon.”
“There are too many rules and regulations in my world,” I said.
“In mine too. That is why I chose to die in a swamp, so I could at least die free.”
“Do you want to die, Jacques? Or do you want to live?”
“I want to live, but that’s not possible.”
“I can make it possible,” I said, as I slowly opened the small sack of oils and herbs. The spirits had to help me save this man. I didn’t know what it was about him, but I couldn’t let him die.
“Are you a spirit? You must be a spirit. I’ve heard countless legends and myths about the beautiful spirits of New Orleans. Paris doesn’t have spirits.”
I smiled shyly and wished I was wearing a fancy dress instead of a potato sack- not that I’d ever owned a fancy dress. “No. I’m not a spirit, only a human, but I can speak with spirits and ask them to help you.”
“Why do you think they would be willing to help a silly Parisian who chose to die in a swamp?”
“It’s a mystery.” I winked. “I’ll be right back. Stay right there,” I said, as I got up and searched for some wild berries. I knew that I needed to make an offering to Papa Loco. He was the loa responsible for healing and preferred his offerings in the form of fruits, vegetables and other types of vegetation. I scanned the trees and air for a butterfly; I knew that one of Papa Loco’s favorite forms to take was that of a butterfly because it allowed him to travel with the wind and listen in on people’s conversations with them being unaware of his presence.
After finding some wild berries, I wrapped them in green leaves that I found scattered on the muddy earth and hung them on a cypress branch.
“Papa Loco. Papa Loco,” I called. “Please help me save him, please.”
There was silence.
“Please Papa Loco. Please,” I begged.
There was a gust of warm wind and the swamp water rippled madly for a few seconds. “I can feel you, please show yourself. Please help me.”
Dead leaves from the muddy earth started to gently float in the air and on top of one of them rested a breathtaking blue butterfly. It fluttered in the wind and then landed on my shoulder. My skin tickled and I let out a laugh. Everything felt so vivid and colorful. Full of hope and possibilities. “Papa Loco?”
“Hello Marie,” said a deep and infinitely wise voice.
“Hello Papa Loco. Will you help me? He’s over there, look.” I walked over to where Jacques lay and kneeled down beside him. His eyes were closed and his skin was hot and clammy. I knew he didn’t have much time left.
Papa Loco landed on Jacques chest and examined him for a few seconds. “Why Marie? Why would you like to save him? He’ll cause you nothing but pain if you do.”
I let out a low sigh. “Maybe I’m being foolish, but the few moments I spent with him have given me more joy than the last nineteen years of my life have given me. Surely anyone who is capable of bringing that much joy to another person must be worthy of living?”
“It’s not always wise to think with your heart, little one. You should run. You should run until you get to the end of the river. Head up North where the air is cold and freedom awaits you. Leave him here. If he’s meant to die, he will. If he’s meant to live he will survive.”
“No, please, Papa Loco. Please. He’s so young. Please give him a chance. I’ve seen so much cruelty in my life. All I want is a sign that some good still exists in this world. Please help him; please show me that not everything about this existence has to be cruel and painful. I don’t wish to see anymore needless death and suffering. Please.”
Papa Loco sat on Jacques’ head for a few seconds and then after a moment of silence he finally spoke. “Fine, Marie. I will spare his life, but remember it’s foolish to get your heart involved. The heart may want what it wants but sometimes it is not always for the best. I’ll save him but you need to save yourself. Hide here until tomorrow night. He’ll be stronger by then. Once he’s better, you run and never look back. Make sure y
our paths never cross again.”
I nodded reluctantly but inside my heart was broken. I didn’t want to leave him. “And if our paths do cross?”
“There’s always a price to pay.”
I stroked Jacques forehead with my hand. ‘I’ll do as you say. I promise I’ll leave him tomorrow at nightfall.”
Chapter 29
Giggles and Kisses
A few Miles outside of New Orleans July, 1830
The sun caressed my face and I let out a small yawn. Around me there were colors, sounds and shapes that were so vivid and almost overwhelming. Swirls of pillowy clouds danced in the sea blue sky. Birds hummed, snakes hissed and yellow wild flowers and purple wisteria blooms hung so low from the cypress trees that they tickled my nose and prompted me to giggle for no reason. I felt like giggling at everything because I was free. Despite the fact that I was sleeping in a muddy swamp where snakes dangled from the trees and ravenous alligators were inches away, I felt safe. Safer than I’d ever felt.
Beside me, Jacques was snoring softly. I couldn’t help but admire the shape of his full lips and how they turned slightly upwards as if he were always smiling. I ran my fingers over his stubbly chin and traced the shape of his strong jawline. His eyelashes were so long and perfect and his skin was no longer the hideous shade of yellow bronze it had been the night before, but now a lovely shade of tan. His fever was gone along with the blood that had been dripping out of his nose and mouth the night before. For hours I watched him sleep just to make sure he was alright. I was worried that he would suddenly disappear; I would wake up and find myself back in Deep Oak Plantation.
When his eyes finally opened and looked into mine, my heart melted.
“Marie. Marie. I knew you were m'ange de le lux.”
I giggled, as he softly stroked my cheek and smiled at me.
“How are you feeling?” I asked.
“Brand new,” he said, as he leaned over and kissed me. He was still weak but I could see that he would live.
I’d never been kissed before and was shocked and taken aback.
That single kiss told me that I never wanted to leave his side. I wanted to be with him regardless of what Papa Loco had told me. We spent the entire day lying under the sun like children listening to the birds sing, the humming of the swamp animals and speaking of our dreams. His dreams were big while mine were small. He wanted to travel the world while I only wanted a small home with a rose garden. I also wanted to learn how to read and write. The day was a flurry of giggles and kisses.
When I was with him I didn’t feel like a slave or a free person because he didn’t see me as one or the other. I forgot the color of my skin, how tall I was, the fact that I was wearing a potato sack or that I had never had anything to really call my own. I just felt like a girl. For the first time in my entire life I knew what it felt like being truly happy. That night, I fell asleep in his arms listening to the sound of his heartbeat and I finally understood the meaning of love. He showed me that even in a world that was capable of being so ugly and cruel, good still existed. Papa Loco had warned me to run away but I ignored him.
Chapter 30
The Capture
A few miles outside of New Orleans July, 1830
I woke up to the sound of tracking dogs and the harsh laughter of bounty hunters. Groggy, I was too slow to fully understand what was about to happen.
A tall man with greasy brown hair hovered over me with his tobacco stained mouth and dirty clothes I knew exactly who he was. He was a slave trader and he knew that I was a runaway.
“Thought you could get away, did you?” His squinty green eyes were filled with fire as he clutched my arm.
Despite his pain, Jacques leapt up from the ground and tried to shake him off of me, but the man put a gun to his head.
“It’s okay,” I said, as I glanced at Jacques. His dark eyes were furious but they weren’t defeated.
Arelia would have screamed what the hell and kicked the guy, but Marie knew better.
“I’ll find you,” said Jacques. “I’ll never forget you. You saved me, m'ange de le lux. J’taime.”
I wanted to smile and believe him, but I knew better. I knew exactly where I was going and what was going to happen to me. I saw it every day. Children separated from their mothers. Husbands, wives and countless other family members ripped away from one another. The few hours of joy he had given me were enough to keep me going until one day, death, the only the only freedom I could hope for, would come for me. I didn’t regret my decision to stay there with Jacques. I had fulfilled one of my greatest dreams, falling in love. I had fallen in love. Maybe it was a simple dream but it was still my dream. It was something that no one could take away from me. Only I could decide if I wanted to stop loving someone or not. My dreams were the only things I possessed.
“Thank you for your kindness,” I said. It was the only thing that I could think of saying. “I’ll never forget you. I love you.”
“Move. Your master’s already sold you. Off to New Orleans you go.” The grimy trader pushed me forward and I walked to my fate without resistance. Maybe I should have resisted and fought but I knew where that got most people. Cruel beatings and harsh punishments.
My heart sank, knowing that I would be headed to an actual New Orleans slave pen. So far I had been lucky enough to have avoided that fate but now everything was about to change.
We walked in silence until we reached the end of the swamp and got to a dusty country-side road. Yesterday the world had been a beautiful place but now it was ugly again and I knew that it was about to get uglier.
There were hundreds of other slaves waiting on the dusty road. What a miserable sight they were, with ripped clothing, mud, and sweat-stained faces. The brutal Louisiana summer mercilessly shone down on them and soaked their skin with harsh rays. Who knows how long they had been walking in the heat without food or water. They stood in silence as they watched me approach.
I’d never seen an actual countryside slave coffle and the sight horrified even me. The men were chained together two by two while the women and children were lucky enough to have no chains around their wrists and ankles because they were less likely to run away. Women with children had something to live for and protect. I suppose when you have at least some reason to live it helps you carry on and you’re less likely to take risks that will put your life or the lives of those you love in danger.
“Move.” The man pushed me into the line where I took my place without question. The more I struggled the more it would give him reason to humiliate me and that was the last thing I wanted.
“Hello,” I said to the woman next to me. She wasn’t much older than me but had an old aura about her.
She quickly averted her startled eyes from me and stared at the ground.
I felt a forceful hand take hold of my neck and the rancid smell of stale tobacco filled my nose. “Were you given permission to talk? Next time you say a word you’ll get a lashing or two.”
I fought back tears of shame and stared at my feet. It occurred to me that we weren’t actually allowed to speak to one another. Exchanging information and building bonds gave us power and anything that gave us power was strictly forbidden. It made the traders nervous because it meant a revolution was brewing.
Why more of us didn’t revolt, I wasn’t sure. Judging by the faces around me I came to the conclusion that trying to be brave while you’re fighting the hunger in your belly and the pains in your heart was a very difficult thing to do. I suppose it would have been easy for someone on the outside looking in on us to question why we didn’t overtake the trader and his men. In reality the situation was much more complicated. People on the outside always assumed they had the best solution to everyone’s problems.
We marched down the dusty road and past the lush Louisiana country-side. We marched without daring to look at one another or attempting to make eye contact with the trader. My bare feet ached and bled and the hunger in my belly was too much too tak
e, but that wasn’t the worst part. The worst part of the entire ordeal was the embarrassment I felt. People stopped on the side of the road to leer at us like we were some type of circus act. They had no shame bluntly staring.
I could hear their whispers and laughs as they pointed at us. Some were mortified but others were simply fascinated. I wanted to cry but that would only give them more reason to stare so I bowed my head low and kept on walking. What made me sad was that they didn’t see me as a human; they saw me as a spectacle. It was okay to stare at me because to them I didn’t have feelings or a story. I was simply another random piece of property. I wasn’t human.
From the moment I was born I had been trained to look at myself not as a human but as a product. At Deep Oak, my height and weight as well as my health had been carefully monitored. The slightest change in my appearance would automatically place me in a different category and devalue my worth. I remembered poor Annabelle, and how she had gone blind in one eye. Her worth automatically decreased by one hundred dollars. All my life I tried my best to keep my worth as high as possible. The higher your worth, the better the chances that a rich buyer would buy you and maybe you would be lucky enough to work in New Orleans city rather than the countryside.
Aside from my mother, Jacques had been the first to see me as an actual person, and I would never forget him or stop loving him for that. Little did I know, the one person I loved more than anything in the entire world was the one that was about to cause me the greatest pain.