“A small amount. They don’t give us much.” The old woman reached into a fabricated pouch at her waist and dropped the few grains into Nyira’s hand. The girl ran back down the ladder. She returned a few moments later, carrying Efuru in her arms. Abena was right on her heels. Nyira had tied the salt and grey strands into a tiny bit of cloth and was using it to rub back and forth upon the baby’s head as she whispered to her. The child had stopped chirping and was breathing normally.
Lumumba came up onto deck after them. He began to rush and thrash about the ship, knocking over crates. He even picked up a pallet containing forty bags of grain, like it weighed nothing, and dropped it. The boom startled and confused the white men working near it.
“You had no right to steal her from me! She was mine! She is going to die. I can see it. You just refuse to. Babies rarely survive the passage.”
“I want her to live!” replied Nyira. “I knew you weren’t good. I won’t let you hurt her.”
Lumumba just looked at her and shook his head.
“You don’t even know about life yet. And you think you can stop death? You’re a foolish child. I already know her fate. I know all their fates. You’ll see. And your sorcery won’t be able to do a thing about it.”
Efuru died a few days later, just as Lumumba predicted. Nyira could do nothing to prevent it. The next death set off a chain of events that confirmed everything the spirit had told her.
A week after the body of Efuru was flung into the sea, Abena, still distraught and mourning her loss, waited until she was working repairing sails near the mainmast and jumped into the sea as well. Lumumba had sat on the rail where the woman went over. Nyira sat down on the deck and cried. Benzia held her and rocked her, as only a mother could, and spoke words of encouragement.
After Abena, three more women and four males also leaped over. The captain made a decision. The slaves were once again shackled to their bunks in the hold. The screams from the slave deck were almost intolerable. The next week, three men and six women died of disease on the slave deck. Nyira went and confronted Captain Matthias.
The captain was surprised the girl was able to get past his guards. But the men stationed at his door were no obstacle. Once she looked them in the eyes, they opened the door and ushered her in.
The old man looked like a trapped hyena as she cornered him behind his chart table.
“Why are you doing this?” demanded Nyira
The captain pulled a pistol on her.
“How dare you come in here, slave,” he snarled. “I will tell you now I was wary of this ‘tribe healer’ nonsense. But my nephew convinced the owners of its merits. Were it up to me, you’d all be chained in the hold and be done with it! Now get out, before I’m forced to use this.” Nyira decided to heed the man’s warning. She hadn’t realized how frightened these white men could be, and her only a child.
Rubin came to the hut later that evening.
“You must never go into my uncle’s quarters again,” Rubin told her. “He is not accustomed to being challenged by a slave.”
“I didn’t mean to frighten him. I just wanted to tell him that just as many die in the hold as jump off the ship.”
“We don’t have a choice,” said the Dutchman. “He’s a businessman. And he has to try and protect the cargo. So they must stay confined for a while. If you can keep them from jumping, then do it. But don’t ask us to sacrifice the investment.”
Nyira went down into the hold and tried to comfort the slaves as much as possible.
Lumumba appeared on the slave deck, beside the bunk of a man who had sustained terrible wounds to his wrists and ankles as he pulled and fought against the shackles. Nyira touched his head and made him sleep. This at least quieted him while she wrapped his wounds.
“That won’t help him,” replied the spirit.
“Well, you won’t,” said Nyira.
The spirit actually looked hurt.
“I can’t believe you haven’t figured this out yet, child. Your magic and your tears won’t save any of them. Only I can. That’s why I stay. I have a destiny, too. If I could send them back to where they came from, I would. I don’t care if you believe that, but I would! I can’t get back to my home, and neither will they. Nor will you. So be prepared, because this is going to get worse.”
Once again, the spirit was proven correct.
Ten more slaves perished on the slave deck, and six more deaths were facilitated by the man, Cliegman, as he began to stalk Benzia.
After three weeks, Nyira finally convinced Rubin to allow more of the slaves onto the main deck. But that didn’t go as she expected.
They allowed a hundred and twenty-five at a time of the two hundred and fifty remaining cargo. And while Rubin wanted very much to preserve the health and welfare of the goods he had contracted to deliver to Saint Domingue, he also decided to try controlling them better. So the overseers were given a freer hand when the slaves were brought back onto the deck.
14
When Bruno woke that next morning and left his shack to head for the fields, Christian stopped him. Christian was not a man of many words. And since Bruno was the same, they just stood at the edge of the yard behind the stable that looked out over the fields and stared at one another. When Bruno made an attempt to go past, Christian blocked him. The early morning heat was already causing them to sweat, and the lack of any kind of breeze didn’t help.
“What?” Bruno finally said, looking at Christian.
Christian didn’t respond and instead gazed out over the eastern field. Juliette could be seen making her way toward them. Bruno was suddenly panicked at what Christian’s motive was.
“I have done nothing to you!” cried Bruno.
“No. You haven’t,” Christian finally said. Without Arnaud to compare or diminish him, Christian was the strongest and most dangerous man on the plantation. “That’s why I’ve decided not to kill you. But I will be taking Juliette for my wife.”
Juliette arrived at the yard just as Christian turned to walk away. He didn’t even glance in her direction. Seeing Juliette pushed Bruno’s rage to the top of his chest.
“I have done nothing to you!” he screamed at Christian’s back. Juliette stopped and looked at Bruno.
“What has happened?” she asked. Bruno could barely look at her. He walked past her toward the eastern field. When she tried to follow him, he said, “No. You must go back to the western fields with Babette.”
“But why?” Juliette asked. When she tried to take his hand, he backed away from her.
“You just must, Juliette. Now go.” He had to walk away so she wouldn’t see him cry. He felt like such a fool, falling for this dream. When he reached the spot where he’d left off the day before, he began to dig with a fury. Another group of mangos appeared in the row before him. He quickly snatched them up and flung them across the field.
“Stop!” he screamed. “I don’t want your fruit!”
*
Someone else informed Juliette of Christian’s intentions. Afterwards, she went to Bruno’s shack and pushed open the fabricated door. The sun had gone down, but the moon was very bright—almost like it was full. When Juliette stepped into Bruno’s one-room abode, the moon through the window illuminated a very bleak scene. The room consisted of a cedar table that Arnaud and Bruno had made together. There were also two decently-made wooden chairs. The shack also contained a couple of wood frame beds, with cornhusk mattresses. But Bruno, whom Juliette could hear breathing, was lying face down on the floor, next to the table. Juliette went to him.
“Bruno. What happened? Are you hurt?”
Bruno didn’t get up, nor would he turn over and look at her.
“Go away,” said Bruno. “You don’t belong here.” Juliette could tell he’d been crying.
“Yes I do,” replied Juliette. She kneeled down and placed her hand on his back. It was hot. Like the sun at midday. A fire is burning inside him, thought Juliette. “Bruno, please,” said Juliette. “Plea
se look at me.”
“Why,” replied Bruno. “What would I see?”
“Someone who loves you.”
“That won’t help,” replied Bruno. “You don’t have a choice.”
“Yes, I do,” said Juliette. “I’ve already made my choice. I choose you. I don’t care what Christian says. He will never have me.”
“Even if I’m dead?” asked Bruno. “Because he will kill me.”
“I will never give myself to Christian.” She laid her head on Bruno’s burning back. It was still damp with his sweat. Something strange happened then: A pineapple appeared on the floor next to Juliette.
“Oh, look,” cried Juliette. “You get divine fruit, too?”
Bruno turned over and looked at her.
“It’s… you mean you get it, too?”
“Yes,” replied Juliette, and picked up the fruit. “Let’s eat it, Bruno.”
“Have you seen the Indian boy, too?”
“No. What Indian boy?”
“Oh. Maybe I was just seeing things.”
“Bruno. You’ve seen the one who sends the divine fruit? It’s been appearing to others, too. Some say it’s a miracle, and they’ve set up shrines to the spirit.”
“He’s not a spirit,” replied Bruno, sitting up. “He’s just a boy. He told me he gave me the fruit and then dis… appeared. … I never considered that he might be a god.”
That’s when Enriquillo appeared, sitting on the edge of the table, his long legs dangling down.
“I’m not a god,” said Enriquillo, a bit perturbed. Bruno and Juliette ran to the other side of the room, and cowered between the two beds. “I just wanted to make sure people weren’t thinking that.”
“Then what are you?” asked Juliette, as she clutched on to Bruno.
“I’m just me,” replied Enriquillo. “My name is Enriquillo.”
“But you appear out of nowhere,” said Bruno. “What else are we to think?”
“Oh…” said Enriquillo. “Now I understand what Agueybana was saying.”
“Who?” asked Juliette.
“He is my… nevermind. But I wanted you to know that I was a friend of Abiodun.”
“I don’t know who that is, either,” said Bruno, a bit frustrated. “What do you want from us?”
“He was named Pierre, by the slavers.”
“Oh, yes! Pierre,” replied Bruno. “Arnaud and I knew him. But he escaped almost a year ago.”
“Yes. I helped him. He was hiding in the mountains.”
“So he did get away,” replied Bruno. “There were rumors he’d been captured and killed. But we knew something wasn’t right because Etienne never returned.”
“He wasn’t captured, and he never gave up, either.”
Bruno and Juliette sat silent, as they pondered a slave’s successful escape.
“Did you help hide him, too?” asked Juliette.
“I did,” said Enriquillo.
“What happened to him?” asked Bruno. “Is he still hiding in the mountains?”
“No…” replied Enriquillo, and paused before he spoke. “When they tried to recapture him, he chose freedom over life as a slave.”
“What?” replied Bruno. “What does that mean?”
“I’ve heard the story,” replied Juliette. “I wasn’t sure if it was true: Pierre jumped off the mountain, rather than be captured.”
“That’s true,” said Enriquillo. “He refused to be enslaved again.”
“… at least he had the choice,” said Bruno. “There are those who would welcome that.”
“Well, maybe not to die,” replied Juliette. “But the freedom to choose.”
“Would you be willing to help others,” asked Bruno. “Who choose… to be free?”
“It’s why I’m here,” said Enriquillo. “My people have hidden in the mountains for hundreds of years. I had hoped to help others. Like your friend Pierre.”
Juliette looked at Bruno after he asked his question.
“How would we reach you, to let you know?” asked Bruno.
“Just hide a potato in the jungle beside the tree where you first saw me. I’ll find you.” Enriquillo disappeared then.
15
Rubin
It was Cliegman that Rubin knew was going to be the most brutal. While he took the reins off the rest of the overseers, he decided to have a word with the Belgian.
“You must go easy with the old woman. She is to help the tribe healer,” he told him.
“You don’t tell me how to manage them!” screamed the Belgian. “They are animals, and I’m paid to prepare them for their masters. I will do it in any way I see fit!”
Rubin thought it ironic that the man could label anyone as “animals.” He was little more than a giant ball of matted hair. Dirty blond locks hung down his back, thick hair grew on his arms and protruded from any opening in his clothing. He was notorious for not having bathed more than twice since his first expedition into the Congo, more than five years ago. His stink was so overpowering, it became his personality which, Rubin concluded, was why he worked on the slave deck almost exclusively. It was the only area of the ship where those around him didn’t complain of his smell. He was also a terrible drunk. His second favorite hobby was maintaining a consistent inebriation during a crossing.
Rubin supposed that if he was being practical, the old woman was expendable. He had only accepted her because the Mikoni threw her in for free.
The Belgian’s usual routine was to get drunk and start berating the slave. It was obviously confusing for them since they clearly didn’t speak his language—and more brutal because Cliegman could speak theirs. He was fluent in a number of African dialects. But that wasn’t the point—he needed a victim.
When the old woman came onto the deck that morning, to begin the tasks she was capable of, Cliegman started at her right away.
He had stood behind her as she kneeled, scrubbing the deck and emptying chamber pots for the cabin boy.
“You need to move quicker, old mom,” Cliegman said. “Or none of the French buyers will be interested in you.” The old woman stopped her trek toward the rail for a moment and looked at the Belgian, shook her head as if to convey that she didn’t understand what he was saying and then continued on her path. That was more than enough provocation for Cliegman.
“Don’t you give me that arrogant look, you old witch!” he yelled.
He snatched the tails from the loop at his waist. His first crack of the thing caught the old woman around the neck. She was spun around, and the chamber pots went flying and spilled on the deck. Cliegman—even in his drunken state—was a master with the tails. He could pluck a grape from the cabin boy’s head without a single nick to his face.
Should one of the other slaves try to come to the victim’s aid, the Belgian would turn the whip in his direction. That was how it usually went.
Rubin actually saw what happened this time.
This time the child rushed up the ladder from below. When she saw the old woman sprawled on her side, she ran to her aid. Cliegman regarded the girl. He was initially hesitant to use the whip on her. Every member of the crew knew the girl’s value, but something about the way the child looked at him, when she realized it was he who’d attacked her friend, set the big man off. When he raised the tails to strike, the girl rose up and made eye contact while pointing at him. The huge man staggered and looked like he would topple over. Instead, he righted himself as if given assistance from an outside force. Cliegman kept his hand up like it couldn’t come down on its own. He also had a perplexed look, as if something had struck him on the head. He lumbered and weaved toward the rail. He was halfway there before Rubin realized what he intended to do. He got a handhold onto the starboard shrouds and lifted his right leg.
No one was really watching the man. Seeing the Belgian use the tails on some innocent victim was nothing new for the crew. Rubin cried out, “Lars! Put hands on Cliegman!”
Lars was closest to him as he was doing
some repairs on the quarter-deck behind the helmsman. But the Swede didn’t really understand the urgency of Rubin’s order. Lars just looked at him.
“What…?” He was holding a paintbrush and bucket of paint. Cliegman had already pulled himself up onto the starboard shroud and was climbing it. So it was up to Rubin. He ran to the girl.
“Stop it,” Rubin said. He didn’t yell. But his voice was forceful. The child still focused on Cliegman. “Let him go!” He took a step toward her and took out his pistol. “Let him go, I said!” He fired into the air. Nyira took her focus off the Belgian and glared at him.
“It won’t change anything,” said Rubin.
“Yes it will,” replied the child. “He won’t hurt anyone anymore. He wants to jump, anyway. Look at him.”
She was standing over the old woman, who moaned and writhed in agony at her feet.
“No, it won’t. I will simply hire someone else, who will be just as cruel or worse.” Rubin heard Cliegman cry out then.
“What the blazes! How did I get up here?”
Lars had made it to him by that time and had climbed up to retrieve the confused overseer.
“Oh quit your complainin’, ya’ stinkin’ lump. You must’ve had too much to drink again, and thought ya’ could fly.”
Rubin noticed the morning breeze then. It was hot coming in off the coast of Saint Domingue. He remembered there was a French woman there that he had walked along the beach with on his last visit. And if this girl didn’t make him jump off this ship, and be food for the sharks, he would get to spend more time with her. But he couldn’t focus on that now.
The child turned her head to the side as if to ask him a question—and then she did ask it. Inside his head.
Will you use the fire thing on me?
Rubin stepped back and shook his head.
“What? What—don’t you do that to me! Speak to me with your mouth. I don’t want your… sorcery in my head!”
Nyira kneeled down to continue giving aid to Benzia.
Rubin was suddenly very frightened and knew he had to get this creature off his ship.
Nyira and the Invisible Boy Page 9