Oppressed

by Kira Saito

  “I knew it! I knew you were here! Can you help? Please?”

  “Yes I can help, if you tell this man to get up. Tell this man to get up and stand up tall and strong! Tell him to stand up straight! Tell him now!” Oshun commanded in a deep and authoritative tone.

  “Get up.” I ordered.

  “What?” Monsieur Grady’s green eyes were horribly confused.

  “Get up! He says you need to get up.” I motioned for him to rise from his chair.

  “Who says I need to get up? I don’t see anyone here.” Monsieur Grady sunk lower and lower in his chair. His eyes grew wider and wider as he took in the entire scene that was playing out in front of him. Shivers overtook him and instead of standing up he fell onto his knees and started to mutter prayers while furiously making the Sign of the Cross. “I knew I shouldn’t have come here. I knew it. Oh Lord have mercy on me. Have mercy on my soul and forgive me for my sins for I have walked right into the Devil’s Den. Have mercy on my soul and on the soul of my wife and unborn child!”

  I rolled my eyes and shook my head. Sometimes helping people was really damn hard.

  “Tell the weak man to get up!” ordered Ogun again. The room grew hotter and filled with the scent of iron, blood and gunpowder. To my surprise and delight Ogun manifested. Dressed in a blue and red military uniform he stood tall, proud, and handsome and was the epitome of strength. The flames embellished his already flawless complexion which made it seem as if he were carved out of fine black onyx.

  I stood up in respect and gave him a little nod.

  “Tell him to get up!” Ogun demanded.

  I ran over to Monsieur Grady and was going to help him off his knees when I felt a forceful arm grip me.

  “No. Don’t help him. He has to do it himself.”

  Monsieur Grady was still deep in prayer with tears streaming down his face, lips trembling and face flushed.

  “Please get up,” I begged him. “We can’t help you if you’re not willing to help yourself. It will be okay. I promise as long as you get up. Everything will be okay. ”

  His eyes opened and he looked at me pleadingly. “I can’t. I can’t.”

  “Yes, you can.” I gave him an encouraging nod and he slowly started to get up.

  “Tell me to stand up straight and have some pride. Tell him to stop slumping!” Ogun shouted.

  I repeated everything Ogun said and to my relief Monsieur Grady stood up strong and for the first time since he had arrived he stopped slumping.

  “Are you a man or a mouse?” Ogun shouted in Monsieur Grady’s ear.

  “Are you a man or a mouse?” I asked him.

  “Well, I’m not a mouse…”

  “Are you a man or a mouse?” Ogun shouted again. “Say that you’re a man and say it with pride!”

  I repeated everything Ogun had said and prayed that Monsieur Grady would get it right this time.

  “I’m a man,” he said quietly. “I’m a man,” he said it again slightly louder.

  “Say it louder,” I said.

  “I’m a man,” he said, not quite convincingly.

  Ogun shook his head in disapproval and smacked Monsieur Grady across the face in an attempt to wake him up from his hazy slumber.

  “I AM A MAN!” he roared. “I AM A MAN!”

  Ogun flashed me a bright smile before turning back to Monsieur Grady. He clapped his palms together forcefully. “If you’re a man you’ll no longer cower in the corner like a coward. You’ll stand up tall and strong and fix your boss.” He grabbed the oil I had prepared from off the desk and spit into it and then handed it to me.

  I told Monsieur Grady everything that Ogun said and then gave him the oil.

  “I’m not a coward!” he screamed over and over again until he was an interesting shade of tomato red.

  I smiled and let Monsieur Grady scream and release all of his frustration. After he was done he turned to me. “Thank you! Thank you!” He was ecstatic as he took the tiny vial from my hand. “If this works I promise I‘ll bring you lots of fresh tomatoes from the garden.”

  I smiled at his newfound enthusiasm and confidence. “Bring them to Congo Square on Sunday, and bring your wife too.”

  He nodded and hurried out of the room. I grabbed the iron dagger off my table and handed it to Ogun. “Thank you.”

  He took the dagger from me and gave me a small salute before he disappeared.

  I smiled to myself as he disappeared. It was going to be another beautiful day.

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Feed the Saints

  Tante Celeste’s Home, Rue de Rampart

  New Orleans, 1853

  “Cecile! Cecile!” Emile ran into the room. Her dark brown curls were loose and wild over her shoulders and her blue eyes gleamed in excitement. I admired how much she had changed in the past two months. She no longer trembled and walked around with an eternally gloomy expression on her face. I had finally seen her smile and I was hopeful that we would be able to somehow overcome our horrible pasts and move forward together.

  “What is it?” I asked, curious as to what had gotten her so excited.

  “You have to try my new gumbo recipe!”

  I grinned and followed her into the kitchen where we were met with the delicious scent of okra, fresh tomatoes, rich butter and fiery spices. “It smells amazing!”

  She beamed. “Do you think?”

  I couldn’t resist so I grabbed a spoon and scooped some right out of the pot. I nodded between mouthfuls, unable to stop eating. After finally gaining some self-control I forced myself to put the spoon down. “Emilie, you have to start selling your food in the Market,” I said with sincerity.

  She gave me an uncertain look, shrugged and then smiled. “Maybe I will.”

  “What are you doing for the rest of the day? I’m off to feed the Saints and Spirits. The Delmonts have their court hearing today and that judge has to rule in their favor. Would you like to come with me?”

  “No. I’m going to stay here and try out some new calas recipes. You go ahead.” She gave me another small smile which made her eyes sparkle.

  “Okay, well if you change your mind you kind where to find me.”

  She nodded.

  With a bagful of Guinea peppers in my hand I stepped out onto the narrow streets. I tried to ignore the stares and whispers of the neighborhood snobs, but I could still feel their judgmental eyes on me as they took in the sight of my simple cotton dress and loose, bonnet-less hair.

  Since news of the Edmond scandal had spread throughout the neighborhood, not one of them dared to speak to me or look me directly in the eyes. At first I had been mortified and ashamed at the very public shunning but now I found it amusing and even liberating. I often wondered how much time and energy they wasted talking about me and my supposedly disgraceful life. Did they discuss me over beignets and cafe au lait? While they sipped champagne and ate petit fours?

  “Bonjour!” I waved at Ines and Isadora who quickly turned their heads and pretended they hadn’t seen me. I silently laughed at their discomfort and stupidity.

  Like every other day the Vieux Carré was bustling with life. I hurried past fruit vendors, heaps of pralines, dusty liquor shops. I navigated the cobbled streets, while trying to avoid getting trampled on by horse carts and bitten by random stray animals.

  “I need some café.” I heard a familiar voice and turned around. “I need some café that is

  Noir comme le diable, chaud comme l'enfer, pur comme un ange, doux comme l'amour,” he sang.

  I smiled as my eyes rested on his striking face with its angular cheekbones and full lips. For the past two months another beautiful and very welcome spirit had attached himself to me. Lucus had been a constant presence in my life ever since my horrific stand-off with Edmond, and somehow I knew that he was the one responsible for making sure that his cousin never carried out his many threats.

  He always found me in the Vieux Carré and accompanied me whenever I went on one of my jobs. And though
I reminded myself I didn’t need his protection I welcomed his company and felt safe when he was by my side. Sadly, I was getting too used to having him by my side, which distressed me because I knew it wouldn’t end well. We were still from two very different worlds, and I knew the very real expectations he had placed upon him. “And what brings you to the Vieux Carré today?” I asked. “Gambling, drinking, lawlessness?”

  He grinned. “Fencing practice and café,” he said. He fell in step with me, and he extended his arm for me to hold.

  My stomach was a knot of nerves and I silently cursed myself for indulging in so much gumbo just minutes before. I wasn’t sure if it was appropriate for so-called ruined women to feel this way. Looks of disapproval and silent disgust followed us as we meandered the streets. “I see. As much as I’d love to get some café I’m off to St. Louis Cathedral to feed the Saints and Spirits. You’re free to watch me while I hold three scorching-hot Guinea peppers in my mouth for a few hours,” I said.

  “How can I refuse an offer like that? Who are we saving today?”

  “The Delmonts.”

  “The Delmonts? Why do they need help? They own half of the casinos in the city. And Madame Delmont never stepped foot in the Vieux Carré.”

  “I know, but you should have seen Madame Delmont’s face when she walked into my parlor and begged me to save her son’s life. She offered to give me her diamond wedding ring, while Monsieur Delmont offered to buy me a new cottage on Rue St. Anne. Imagine! They’re desperate and they have no one else to turn to. I can’t let their son die. They’ll hang him if he’s convicted. He’s not much older than us. He has his whole life ahead of him. And he’s their only child.”

  “Do you think he did it?” Lucus asked.

  I shook my head. “No. I know he didn’t kill that man on purpose. He was only defending himself. There are always two sides to every story.”

  He gave me a wide smile. “I know,” he said. “So we’re off to save the Delmont boy!”

  “Yes! Little by little we’re starting a revolution!” I dramatically threw my free hand in the air.

  “A revolution?” he asked, as he glanced at me with one eyebrow raised.

  “Yes. There are a hundred million ways to start a revolution. You can weld a machete and pour gasoline over people or you can attack their hearts and minds,” I said, channeling Bade and Erzulie. “I’m determined to attack the hearts and minds of the fine people of New Orleans with spirit. It’ll be like an infectious disease. I’m going to help whoever I can! Rich, poor, blue and green. It doesn’t matter. Soon the spirit will be unstoppable and maybe in a few million years we’ll finally learn how to appreciate our differences.”

  Lucus laughed. “It’s going to take a few million years? Are we really that hopeless?”

  “Yes,” I said seriously as I caught a glimpse of the slave coffle that passed us. “With the way things are going it will take a few million years if we’re very very lucky and work very hard. It might take a little longer but I have faith that people will finally wake up one day. But in the meantime it’s the Delmont boy!”

  He smiled widely. “I guess we have to start somewhere, don’t we?”

  I nodded. “We do.”

  We stepped inside of an empty St. Louis Cathedral and I felt a sense of wonder wash over me as it always did when I was inside the beautiful church. With its stained-glass windows, lavish altars that were always full of fresh flowers and blazing candles, extravagant murals that covered the ceiling and walls, it was the very heart of the city. Almost everyone in New Orleans was baptized here, including slaves, free people, and countless Queens.

  “Are you sure you want to do this?” I asked.

  Lucus nodded and gave me a large grin. “I want to help. I want to be a part of your revolution.”

  I smiled and wanted to say you already are, but I wasn’t that fearless yet. We kneeled on a pew. I took out the peppers from the bag. “When you hold the peppers in your mouth you have to concentrate on the Delmonts. Focus on asking the Spirits and Saints for their blessings.”

  “I think I can manage that.”

  I smiled and shyly handed him three colorful peppers. Together, hand in hand, we fed the Spirits and Saints. Tears of pain filled our eyes, our faces reddened and sweat dripped down our foreheads, but we didn’t give up. I focused on how pale, desperate and fragile Madame Delmont had been when she had walked into my room with a full veil obscuring her delicate face, and how the usually stern and intimidating Monsieur Delmont had burst out in tears at the very thought of losing his boy. They were one of New Orleans’ wealthiest couples, but they knew that no amount of riches would ever replace the life of their boy.

  After a couple of hours of strict focus and dedication we finally stopped and I turned to face a very red Lucus.

  “That wasn’t so bad, was it? Did you feel them? Did you feel the Saints and Spirits?” I asked, hoping that he wouldn’t run out of the Cathedral shouting, ‘You heathen! What kind of savage non-sense is this?’ “I know they’re going to help the Delmonts, I can feel it. They have to.”

  Lucus was eerily silent as he stared at me in quiet wonder. His focus shifted and for a few seconds he stared at the colorful flowers that rested on the altar in front of us. Particles of dust caught the light that streamed in through the stained-glass window behind him. They swirled around his head, giving the illusion that there was a halo around his dark hair. I searched his face and tried to read his mind.

  He was still for a few minutes and then suddenly and without warning I felt his arms wrap around me, crushing me against his chest as if he were trying desperately not to let me slip away. I could feel his heart beat against mine. I devoured the smell of the hot peppers on his breath mixed with the slightly sticky scent of his skin. His lips covered my forehead in soft but fiery kisses before making their way down to my eyelids and cheeks. They lingered on my skin and I vowed that I would never ever take another bath again or wash my face.

  Abruptly I pulled away before he had a chance to kiss my lips. “I can’t,” I said pleadingly.

  “Why not?” he asked. His voice was barely above a whisper and there was a slight frown on his lips. His eyes were eager as they searched my face for an explanation.

  I decided to just come out and say exactly how I felt because I had already spent so much of my life pushing my real feelings aside. “I don’t want to be a placée. I don’t want to be second to anyone. I don’t want to wait at home crying, wondering why you’re not there and who you love more. I don’t want to sit in the second tier at the opera and look down on you and your real family. Or pass you on the street and pretend I don’t know you when you’re with your real wife. I don’t want to carry children you’ll never really know, or have them be born into this vicious cycle, not knowing they have brothers or sisters.

  “And if you kiss me right now that’s what’s going to happen. You’ll marry one of the hyena twins and buy me a house on Rue de Rampart. We’ll rationalize that it’s different but it won’t be because... It wouldn’t be.” To my shock and frustration I started to cry. I hadn't cried since Maman had kicked me out or I had found out that Emilie was my sister. Yet here I was, crying. “You’ll see me as a fashion statement. Nothing more.” Flashbacks of Edmond hit me and the tears kept on flowing. “Then there’s your cousin and family and…” The list went on and on. “But you see, I don’t want to be seen as a fashion statement. A disposable novelty that you’ll trade.”

  I thought of all Antoine had taught me and I wanted to make him proud.

  “I thought we were starting a revolution,” he said simply.

  I looked away and counted the thorns that rested on the head of the Christ statue.

  “Look at me, Cecile,” he said softly but with a distinct ring of determination. “Why can’t you look at me?”

  I was unresponsive as I obsessively counted the thorns. One. Two. Three. Four.

  “You’re a hypocrite.” His voice was calm and devoid of ange
r or emotion.

  I turned to look at him. The fire in his eyes unnerved me and my lips trembled violently as I tried to make sense of his accusation. “Hypocrite?”

  “Yes. You speak of revolution and filling the hearts and minds of people with spirit, yet you shut yourself off completely. You preach equality and the abolishment of divisions, yet you continue to create boundaries in your own life. These lies and contradictions make you a hypocrite.” He crossed his arms and glared at me, openly challenging me. “Didn’t you say that true revolution begins with the heart and mind? Well, maybe you should start with your own heart and mind.”

  His arrogance and supposed truths infuriated me. “I’m not a hypocrite!” My voice came out in a low, acidic stream. “You have no idea what I’ve been through! How dare you judge me? It’s easy for you to sit there and make dramatic professions and come to conclusions. Do you have any idea…? ” The words got caught in my throat and memories of Edmond came flooding back. The touches, the scoffs, and constant humiliation that I endured over and over again. I clenched my fists and my body trembled but I refused to shed another tear. “I don’t need another oppressor disguised as a savior.”

  He lowered his lashes and took a small breath. After a few seconds he looked up and his determined eyes met mine while a small smile danced on his lips. “I’m not trying to oppress you. I’m trying to love you.” He said the words slowly but with fierce passion and conviction. “I want to love you, that’s all.”

  I closed my eyes and tried to shut out his words. “Why would you want to love a heathen, a savage someone supposedly ruined?”

  “The same reason you love someone who drinks too much, wastes his time in questionable gambling dens, and has no clear plans or ambitions aside from painting painfully horrible portraits. Yes, I know you love me even though you’re too afraid to say it.”

  I laughed and shook my head. “You’re so arrogant.”

  “If speaking from the heart is arrogant, then yes, I am arrogant. If saying what I know is the truth and understanding that life is a beautiful mystery is mad, then yes, I am a madman. Love is the only truth, which makes what I feel for you the only truth I know and the only truth I will ever know. Je t'aime.” There was an all-consuming conviction in his voice which both terrified and shook the very marrow within my bones. He was perfectly insane and perfectly perfect.