Oppressed

by Kira Saito

  “What if I can’t? What if? What if?”

  “Enough what if’s! Enough doubt! The time has come!”

  “Okay, Bade.” I pushed my doubts aside and was determined to finally take the path I was meant to follow.

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  The Road to Freedom?

  Cecile LaNuit’s Home, Rue de Rampart

  New Orleans, 1853

  “Who is this?” Justine gave Emilie the once over from head to toe. “Has Monsieur bought you another slave even after what you did last night?”

  I could tell she wasn’t pleased at that idea because a new slave would challenge her superior position within the household. The number of divisions within Creole society was so absurd that sometimes I felt like slapping every one until they all woke up and realized that we all had blood pumping through our veins and hearts that beat in our chests. Was I insane for thinking this way?

  “No,” I said. “This is my sister, Emilie.” It was the first time I had said those words out loud and it made me feel odd. There was something vastly unnatural about the whole situation, no matter how common it may have been. There was a moment of silence and the three of us stared at one another, not sure what to say. Emilie nervously cracked the joints in her knuckles and gave Justine a shy smile. I finally spoke. “Justine, please gather your things and make sure that the cook is sent home for the day.”

  “Gather my things!” Justine burst out incredulously, and I knew exactly what she was thinking.

  “No, I’m not selling you back into the market. You have my word, but we can no longer live here. I can no longer live here.” Every inch of the place reeked of Edmond and I could no longer stand living under his sick control. Even if he was no longer physically allowed in the house I could still feel him all around me. His touch lingered on my skin and in the air all around me and if I didn’t escape from it I knew I would explode.

  “But where will we go?” Justine and Emilie asked simultaneously.

  “We’re going to live with my Tante.” I wasn’t exactly sure if Tante Celeste would embrace us with open arms, but I had to at least try. Trying was better than doing nothing at all.

  “But Monsieur isn’t going to approve,” Justine said with hesitation. “He’s not going to approve at all.”

  “Justine I cannot and will not make you do anything you don’t want. If you want to stay here with Monsieur it’s your choice.”

  She wasn’t too pleased at that suggestion and shot me one last uncertain look before she left to gather her belongings.

  “No! We can’t go to her home!” Emilie pleaded. It was the first time I’d ever heard her raise her voice and the very sound of it surprised me. “I can’t go to your Tante’s home. She’ll send me back to your Maman! There’s no way she’s going to let me stay there. What if…”

  “No. No she won’t. She’s different. She’s not like Maman. She’ll help us, I swear,” I said, as convincingly as I could. I wasn’t sure if Tante Celeste would be comfortable with harboring stolen property. Justine was legally Edmond’s and Emilie belonged to Maman; and, well, I was still technically Edmond’s as well.

  Emilie studied me carefully for a few seconds before speaking. “Trust you? Why should I trust you? What have you ever done to earn my trust?”

  My cheeks burned in shame as I thought of all the years I looked the other way. All the times she did my hair and served us meals, and I ignored her screams when Maman used the whip on her for disobeying or simply out of pure frustration and anger. I had gotten a fancy education while she was forbidden to learn how to read or write. In the past, I never truly understood her situation, but after being Edmond’s prisoner I finally got a tiny sense of what life must have been like for her. “You’re right. You have no reason to trust me but if we don’t work together we won’t get anywhere. Believe me, we’re both in the exact same position.”

  She laughed a high-pitched laugh. “Work together? I want to be free, Cecile. Help me get out of this city. Help me escape this nightmare!”

  “It’s too dangerous, Emilie. If you get captured Maman won’t take you back and you’ll end up in the pen. ” I shuddered at the thought of her ending up there. The city was full of hunters that existed solely for the purpose of catching slaves and Emilie had never been out of city- how would she ever survive in the wilderness all alone? “It’s not any better out there. I know Tante Celeste can convince Maman to set you free. Trust me. Please.” I wanted to make it all better. I wanted to make up for all the wrongs. I wanted her to know that I cared even if I was just one person I was still someone she could turn to and maybe even trust.

  She fixed her brown tignon and took a deep breath. “I don’t need your pity, Cecile! I don’t need your sympathy. I don’t need a savior.”

  “I’m not trying to save you. I’m trying to… work with you.”

  “Work with me?”

  I nodded. “We’re both alone, aren’t we? Your Maman died when you were a child and mine wants nothing to do with me. We share a Papa but we can never truly be part of his world, can we? From where I stand we’re in exactly the same position. What’s the point of splitting apart when we could be so much stronger together?”

  Emilie exhaled and appeared defeated. “Alright. Fine.”

  I breathed a sigh of relief. “Thank you. Everything is going to change, I swear. We’ll finally get to live the lives we deserve to live.”

  “Perhaps,” she said softly and with uncertainty.

  “We are!” I tried to brush aside any doubt I had and reminded myself that I had to remain positive. “I’ll be right back,” I said as I went to collect the only things I needed. I ran into my bedroom and gathered all of my offerings, charms, herbs and oils. I glanced around the room and let out a low sigh of relief that I would never have to spend another night there again.

  ***

  Tante Celeste answered the door. With her dramatic red and yellow tignon, billowy black dress and layers of wooden beads she played the part of Voodoo Queen perfectly. Her hazel eyes widened, shock and sorrow replacing her lively expression when she saw the three of us miserably standing at her door looking like lost little orphans.

  “Tignon! You’re wearing a tignon?” I asked, completely ignoring the real reason I was standing at her doorstep.

  She proudly touched the colorful headdress and laughed. “Oui, do you like it? Does it make me look less attractive?”

  I shook my head and admired the resolve and silent rebellion of the Voodoo community. In 1786 a law had been passed that stated that all free woman of color had to wear tignons instead of bonnets. This law was a sad attempt at reminding free woman of color of their inferior position within the community. Instead of accepting the tignon as a badge of shame and slavery, women began wearing it as a fashion statement and the law was eventually removed. However, now, the tignon had become a staple among Voodoo Queens who wanted to remind lawmakers that no matter what they did or tried to do they could never really keep the community down.

  “Cecile?” Tante Celeste stared at me in expectation.

  “I need help.” The whole Emilie, Edmond, Antoine, Maman, sister and losing my soul story came out in a rapid stream of words that flowed and flowed. After it was all out I held my breath and closed my eyes, unable to monitor her expression while she decided if she would help us or not. I trembled and struggled not to cry, because this was my last option. We had nowhere else to turn.

  My eyes were still closed when I felt a pair of warm arms embrace me and the spicy smell of cinnamon and cayenne pepper surround me. “Why didn’t you come sooner?” she asked

  I shrugged. “Emilie and Justine have no place to go, we need to keep them safe, please don’t send Emilie back to Maman, please,” I begged.

  Tante Celeste released me and turned her attention to Emilie who at this point was shaking with outright fear and suspicion. Tante Celeste gently stroked Emilie’s smooth, baby-like cheeks. “You’re safe here. You all are,” she said as g
lanced at Justine. “Now come in, don’t stand out in the cold.”

  “Thank you! Thank you! See, I told you she would help us.” I grinned at Justine and Emilie who quietly followed me inside the lavish house.

  I loved everything about Tante Celeste’s house, from its exquisite hand-carved furniture, its imported Persian carpets and silk tapestries, and the fact that it always smelled like fiery pepper and sweet peaches. I closed my eyes and thanked all the Spirits and Saints for their constant presence, love, and protection.

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Slave Driver, the Table Has Turned

  Tante Celeste’s Home, Rue de Rampart

  New Orleans, 1853

  I glanced at myself in the gilded wood mirror and smiled at my reflection. My skin was no longer a sickly shade of yellow but a radiant pale honey, and my eyes were no longer dull and lifeless. Exactly two months had passed since I had broken free from Edmond and it felt as if the world had magically changed. Winter had quickly turned to spring and brought with it the sugary smell of jasmine and magnolia. The vivid purple flowers on the Crepe Myrtle tree that was outside my bedroom window were in full bloom. And as they did every morning, two little birdies chirped sweet melodies outside my window, helping me welcome in a new day.

  It wasn’t that life was perfect. Far from it. Edmond hadn’t given up. On the contrary, he was as aggressive as ever. He had shown up outside Tante Celeste’s home numerous times, only to be driven away. He still followed me and harassed me on the streets and threatened to sell Justine back into the market, he threated to call the police on me because he knew any place where people gathered to conduct Voodoo rituals or ceremonies was an instant police attraction. He had threatened to have me whipped but had never carried through with the threat. No matter what he said or did I was no longer afraid of him. Every horrific action he plotted never worked to his advantage because he no longer had my fear to feed off of and because I knew I had the spirits on my side.

  I missed Antoine dearly and thought of him every day. But more importantly I respected his wishes and tried to stand up for myself every day in every way.

  Maman and I hadn’t spoken since the day of our fight and I wasn’t sure if we would ever speak again. I was still angry and ashamed that she hadn’t told me Emilie was my sister. I was ashamed that she had used the whip on her so freely all these years, knowing that we both had Papa’s blood running through our veins. I was disappointed that she no longer wanted me as a daughter because I refused to be who she wanted me to be. It was painful cutting the cord, but I knew that I could no longer live that way. The way she wanted me to live.

  Tante Celeste had spoken to her about Emilie and much to my surprise she had sold Emilie to Tante Celeste for the pitiful price of two dollars. Tante had legally freed Emilie, and had given her the choice of pursuing her own path or staying here with us. To my shock, Emilie had chosen to stay with us and was learning Voodoo/Hoodoo so she could help the fine people of New Orleans who flocked to us in hordes. Slowly but surely the spirits were opening their world to her and she was beginning to develop her powers.

  The spirits had been right. I was meant to be the official Voodoo Queen of New Orleans, and my reputation and effectiveness as a Queen had spread like wildfire throughout the entire city. Every day hundreds of people turned to me for hope and spirit. Rich, poor, white, black, yellow, green, red, slave and free. I loved each and every one of them, laughed with them, cried with them, united them and did whatever I could to make sure that no matter what they never gave up hope.

  It was my job to inspire them and remind them that life was a beautiful mystery and that it was worth living every day and in every way regardless of oppressors and tyrants who thrived on taking away its beauty and magic. The spirits worked through me to remind the good people of New Orleans that all of them had a right to life, not only the Edmonds of the city. Some of the methods I used were simple; others were controversial, but they were always effective.

  Being the most sought-after Queen in the city wasn’t an easy job because it left me open to constant threats and attacks from other Queens who wanted my position and power. Day after day dolls, bottle hexes, headless chickens and other rather creative tricks were thrown my way, but I always kept my guard and managed to fend them off.

  Of course my actions and decisions had officially classified me as a ruined woman and the neighborhood snobs took delight in what they perceived to be my newfound poverty. Little did they know, despite the fact I no longer wore fancy Parisian ball gowns I was richer than I had ever been.

  “Cecile! Monsieur Grady is here to see you!” Tante Celeste’s voice called, snapping me out of my mindless reflections.

  “I’ll be right there.” I gave myself one last glance in the mirror and opened the door. The heavenly scent of chicory café and beignets swirled around me and my stomach growled but I ignored it and hurried to the back parlor where I conducted my business.

  I dramatically walked into the room and set my eyes on a very young, handsome, and tragically miserable Monsieur Grady. His pale face with its delicate sprinkling of freckles was streaked in mud, and when his dazzling green eyes met mine I could sense his desperation. His white shirt was full of holes and his feet were bare, telling me that he had fallen on some pretty hard times.

  “Why are you so sad, mon ami?” I asked, as I extended my hand for him to shake.

  He nervously ran his fingers through his thick black hair and eyed me from head to toe before he finally decided to extend his hand. “Are you really her?” he asked in a thick Irish accent.

  “Who?”

  “The one who knows how to fix people’s problems. The one everyone says can help. I thought you’d be taller, stronger, and a lot older.”

  “I…”

  He cut me off before I had a chance to respond. “I don’t have any money, but I can pay you in tomatoes.”

  “Tomatoes?”

  “Yes. My wife, she loves to plant tomatoes.” His eyes shone at the mention of his wife. “Would you like some tomatoes? ”

  “Sure, I’d love some tomatoes,” I said eagerly. I was learning how to cook gumbo aux herbes, seafood gumbo and every other type of gumbo under the sun, so tomatoes were always welcome.

  His face brightened and it was clear he was relieved that I had accepted his tomato offering. He was silent for a few seconds before he spoke again. “She’s pregnant. My wife, she’s pregnant with our first child.” He nervously took off his tattered hat. I had a feeling he wasn’t used to asking for help.

  “That’s wonderful! You must be so excited.”

  He smiled and a small dimple appeared in his left cheek. “I am. I am.” He looked down at his bare feet and his shoulders slumped. “We can’t live on tomatoes alone.”

  “Monsieur?” I said gently, as I lifted his head up from its low position. “How can I help? There’s no shame in asking for help.”

  After a long and uncomfortable pause, Monsieur Grady looked at me and spoke. “It’s our boss- he hasn’t paid us for months and we’re all starving… Even my wife… He doesn’t think we deserve to get paid because we’re Irish. He doesn’t say it but I can tell by the look in his eyes. I promised the boys at our factory that I’d get help. We don’t know what else to do or where to turn.” His lips quivered. “But I don’t want to sell my soul. Please don’t ask for my soul,” he begged with sincerity.

  “You’re already giving me tomatoes, why would I ask for your soul?”

  He laughed nervously.

  “Have a seat.”

  Monsieur Grady nodded and sunk into the mahogany arm chair that sat in front of my desk.

  I turned to the shelves behind me and knew exactly what he needed. “We’re going to fix your boss so that he pays you right away.” I grabbed the ingredients off of the self and turned around to meet Monsieur Grady’s tense expression.

  “Fix him? I don’t want him dead. I don’t want any trouble. Please.”

  I let out a littl
e laugh. “Don’t worry, he’s not going to die. I’m going to make you an oil called Boss Fix Oil. All you have to do is make sure that you pass some of the oil under his desk and under your feet. It’ll give you control over your boss and you’ll be sure to get that missing money in no time.”

  I arranged the mixture of ingredients, lit a green and black candle, pricked my finger with an iron dagger, anointed it with seven drops of my blood and called on Ogun to assist me in this particular matter. Ogun was the fiery spirit of strength and progress who assisted the unemployed and offered guidance to those who were having trouble realizing their goals. He was fierce and powerful only because he knew that tough times called for swift action and strength. Like Marinette he had been responsible for starting the Haitian Revolution by planting the idea of revolution in the minds of his followers.

  “Are you sure?” he asked as the room grew noticeably hotter and the flames from the candles rose higher and higher. My cheeks and fingers felt as if they were on fire as I touched the ingredients and started to make the oil.

  I nodded and gave him a reassuring smile. I could feel Ogun’s presence as I blended together the hot chilies, sage, tobacco and various other herbs and powders. I closed my eyes and mentally asked Ogun for help. Even though he was a very powerful spirit he was rather sexist and usually showed himself to male followers rather than female.

  “Fine,” I muttered. “Even though you’re not showing yourself I can still feel you and hear you. Please help Monsieur Grady with his problem. Please. He has a baby on the way and his family is starving. I have an iron dagger for you. I know how much you love iron.” I held the thick dagger up in the air hoping that he would appreciate the offering of iron mixed with drops of my blood.

  Ogun laughed deeply and the flames blazed higher and grew brighter. The room shook with his laugher, prompting all of the furniture along with the windows to rattle and wildly move.