And what a different place our cabin is. Pappy would be proud as punch if he turned down our track right now and saw it. I walk round the land that he made mine for so long and I never even knew it.
‘Look, Pappy,’ I whisper, ‘what Quince and Mambo have done with your land. Look how nice they keep it, the best crop all around here, and Quince is even using your old hoe. It’s still going strong as ever. Mambo just keeps sharpening it, like she’s real good at. And she turned out fine, just like you said she would.’
The leaves rustle in the trees.
‘She never came to the Lord though, Pappy.’
I sit down by Sugarsookie Creek for the last time and watch the river flowing towards the ocean I’m just about to cross and never return. I imagine Africa is where it took my blood, washed it up alongside the blood of my people forced to come the other way. I close my eyes and hum Nellie’s tune. I don’t expect to be hearing her out here any more. I guess she’s busy watching Eveline and all those other little girls needing her right now. I sure did find my strength and it’s going to be enough for all of them.
I hear a twig crack and turn. It’s Quince.
‘Ya okay out here Arletta?’
‘Yes, I’m fine, just saying goodbye to the old place, that’s all.’
‘Long as ya okay girl. We sure gonna be missin’ ya.’
I start walking back and he falls into step beside me. We hardly speak all the way back to our cabin; seems no call for it. It feels fine just walking beside him: safe, comfortable. I never thought I’d ever feel that way with Quince, but he sure did turn out all right. He’s finished the fence Pappy started; it goes all the way round the land now, from the track to the tree line, leaving the pipe outside so everybody is still able to use it, though some folks are starting to have pipes laid down now. When we get to our cabin he tells me Mambo won’t let him change the old front part of the fence because Pappy put it up and she wants that left just the way it is.
‘It’s in bad need of fixin’, this bit of fence, but she won’t let me make no changes to it so I just gonna paint it,’ he says.
‘You sure have done a fine job here Quince. The place is fixed up good.’
He looks pleased with that bit of praise.
‘Thanks Quince.’
‘Eh?’
‘Thanks for taking care of Pappy’s old cabin.’
‘He was a fine man, ya Pappy. Sure glad to know him, though I reckon I shoulda got to know him better. Ya be takin’ good care of y’self over there Arletta girl, ’cause I hear some places over there be just like bandit country. And remember to be writin’ ya ma. She gonna be missin’ one of her girls and she gonna be weeping about it. She weeping about that already.’
Quince kisses my cheek and puts his hand on my shoulder. We come through the trees to our old cabin just like that.
‘Ya’s a good sorta person Arletta, and take care of y’self. Ya ever need to come home, ya just holler and I’m gonna see to it. Y’hear? This cabin always gonna be here, yours by rights. Just want ya to know that’s the way I sees it. Yours by rights when the time comes and ya back home.’
I look over to our cabin and see Mambo leaning against the porch post. Arms folded and smiling. She’s been watching me and Quince talk, like we’ve never done, and that sure is making her look about as happy as I ever saw her.
That’s the last time I ever saw our cabin.
Mrs Archer-Laing gives me a suitcase from her basement and I start thinking about what I need to be taking overseas in it. I’ve already purchased a nice grey pin-striped suit, real smart and nipped below the waist like the fashion is now, some stockings and a pair of low-heeled shoes for the journey. I reckon I’m going to take three cotton dresses, three shirts and three skirts for getting started in Nigeria. I’ve been told folks in the missions can buy clothes by mail order over there and have it sent to the church in Lagos for collection, so I guess I’m going to be able to kit myself out once I see what everybody else is doing. I don’t want to be standing out or looking different. Africa is my new and old home. I’m wanting to dress like my own kind.
I get Mrs Archer-Laing to make me a cotton chemise with pockets on the sides. I tell her it’s going to keep my papers safe on the journey, but when it’s finished I wrap Seymour’s money in Pappy’s handkerchief and sew that into it. I’m going to be travelling with over $200 sewn into the chemise after I pay for what I need. The rest of Seymour’s money I’m leaving with Mambo to help with Rochelle’s education. I try giving her a bit more – after all, I’ll be earning in Nigeria – but she wouldn’t have it at all.
‘I find out Quince been puttin’ aside for her classes, and ya gonna be needin’ it. What ya give us already is enough. I told Quince about ya giving Rochelle the land and he says ya right good to us all and ya gonna need that money Arletta.’
‘Does he know all about me Mambo?’
‘Not about what we’s planning on doing, but he knows the rest of it. He’s thinkin’ we gonna be dealing with it all once ya gone. I said we can talk over what to do then. He reckons we gonna get a squad of his pals and see to it after ya gone.’
‘Be sure to tell him I appreciate that Mambo. I never thought he was going to turn out fine at all.’
‘He’s settled. Seeing blacks gettin’ on. And since he find out about Grambling State, he been pushin’ for his daughter to get there, and she’s smart, he knows that. Like I say, Quince turn out fine.’
It feels real strange to be clearing out my white room under the eaves. I haven’t got much left since I emptied the trunk, so it doesn’t really take any time at all. Except for what happened to Safi, Mrs Archer-Laing’s room has been a fine place for me. That’s where my life really started, out on my own with my friend, laughing and watching her getting the new stick of lip colour on right. Safi was full of beans, they always said. I’m missing her these last few days in the room we shared. I sure am thinking of Safi a lot, because she’s going to be resting soon, too.
I check the small closet: that’s now empty, and then the wardrobe Mrs Archer-Laing had brought up from the basement when we first arrived. The freshly cleaned-out King of England fits nicely in my suitcase and I place my flannel and soap toiletries in it, then tell Pappy out loud that he’s coming all the way to Africa with me. The trunk is ready to go back to the basement too, so the room can be painted for Mrs Archer-Laing’s new boarder.
I’m just about closing the lid when I see something crumpled into where the veneer panel is lifting with age at the back of the frame. Right off I think it’s a page from one of my pamphlets, which I’ve already given to Rochelle.
‘Dammit, how did that get torn out?’
Then I see it’s not printed at all, it’s handwritten. I ease it out so I don’t tear it. The writing is scrawled all over the page, but it’s Safi’s, for sure.
Dear Arletta,
I’m frightened and I don’t feel good at all. I wish you’d come back soon from Mambo. Ainsley wants me to get rid of the baby and he made me drink something from someone he knows that he says will work, and now I come home alone and I feel so bad. He don’t want the baby. I loved Ainsley, but he turn so much now I don’t know him at all. Ain’t my Ainsley. We been fighting and I don’t want to take it but he force me and it feels bad, the pain bad now and I think the baby coming away. I’m leaving this note for you so you know it something I took and you can ask Mambo for help if I need. I’m afraid, Arletta. I wish you’d come. I thought Ainsley was the one, but he’s all wrong and I don’t want let Ma down neither, so I just don’t know what to do. I thought we’d be married by now but truth is he don’t want it. He never let me tell you and I’m sorry ’cause you my best friend. When you find this get Mambo quick and tell her …
I can’t read the writing after that; it looks like a spider lost his legs on paper. Right after she wrote that note I must have come home and found her the way she was.
‘Errol!’
I run downstairs two at a time a
nd burst into Errol’s kitchen.
‘Errol!’
Mrs Archer-Laing hears all that pounding on the stairs and follows in from her parlour.
‘Whatever is the matter, Arletta?’
‘It’s this. Look! It was Ainsley: he killed Safi. Errol, look what I found. I was just finishing with my packing up, and closing the trunk when I found this. It’s Safi, a letter from Safi. Look, she wrote this.’
Errol and Mrs Archer-Laing read the letter together.
‘Oh, Lord above.’
‘Where ya get this, Arletta?’ asks Errol.
‘Stuck in the trunk upstairs, where it’s coming away. The back of the trunk is coming away from the frame, and Errol, I remember now. I remember it. Safi was saying, ‘Read … read,’ just before she got like she did. This is what she was trying to say before she got like, like she couldn’t say anything at all. She was woozy when I found her but she was saying, ‘Read, read.’ She wrote this for me to find and I didn’t find it. I didn’t understand. She knew what was happening to her. It was Ainsley all along, and I didn’t know what she was saying. And maybe we’d have been able to save her too.’
Errol’s head hangs low on his chest, muttering that poor little Martha is Ainsley’s child all along. Martha is Ainsley’s child and he’s never even seen her.
‘I can hardly believe it,’ says Mrs Archer-Laing, ‘and what a performance he put on for us. I never thought for a moment …’
Errol folds the letter.
‘Well, he’s gonna be havin’ himself a fine old time explaining that performance to the law.’
‘Try not to upset yourself, Arletta, my dear,’ says Mrs Archer-Laing. She’s holding my shoulders from behind because my tears have started to flow. ‘There’s no guarantee that your mother could have helped Safi. Don’t you go torturing yourself over this. I saw you do everything possible for Safi. You couldn’t have done any more and we have no way of knowing your mother could have either.’
Errol and I both turn towards her about the same time.
‘It’s all right, Arletta, I know your mother has her ways. I believe, that is to say, I hear, that she’s the best there is at them, too. As a matter of fact, I know several who speak very highly of her remedies. Errol, take this to the sheriff’s department right away.’
‘I’m sorry, Mrs Archer-Laing, I never knew you’d ever heard about my ma.’
She just nodded.
Mambo was right about Safi. As soon as I found that letter and Errol got it out of the house to the sheriff’s department, I swear that room feels peaceful when I turn in for the night. That room feels like Safi has stopped walking and I lie there listening to the rustling fronds outside our window, thinking about all the good times we had since we first came here. I remember her laughter, and Agnes Withers banging on the wall to get us to be quiet, her kindness to folks, especially her ma, and her out-of-tune singing at church. Safi was just like me, couldn’t carry a tune in a bucket. She’s off someplace else I reckon, watching Ainsley get what’s coming and when she’s done with that, there will be just looking out for little Martha and peace.
‘Goodbye, Safi.’
My face is wet with tears saying goodbye to my friend.
The following night comes with a dark moon. One of those mists, thick like smoke, creeps round the oak trees out behind the burned-down plantation house and it sure feels like somebody’s going to be dead before morning. I’ve never known a night with a feeling like it.
Madame Bonnet got electric power down her way some time back and Tout de suite has strung up a cable with Chinese lanterns between the trees to light up the fête she’s throwing out back of her bordello. It’s been going for hours by the time we arrive. The sound of the Cajun band bounces over the expanse of grass between the festivities and where we stand, right back from it all, at the edge of the bayou, with frogs croaking near as loud as the banjos. Tout de suite has already fastened two pieces of rope that hang hidden in the Spanish moss. Mambo and I are both wearing black and we stand silently next to the ropes. I watch her and feel strong. That’s what she said about it before we got here.
‘Watch, and do as I say. Watch and do. That’s all Arletta. This is just what these two men been walkin’ into since the first time Mr McIntyre lay a finger on my daughter, or anybody else’s daughter. Ain’t nobody to blame for it but themselves. Their own doin’ – except of course they’s wanted to get away with it and we ain’t lettin’ them. That’s all there is to it honey.’
Madame Bonnet’s silhouette grows larger as she appears out of the mist. When she gets close I see she’s wearing a long black gown finished off at the shoulder with a spray of peacock feathers. She’s got long satin gloves that cover her arms to above the elbow. It’s not a night for smiling, but I do when I see she’s carrying her satin shoes in one hand and holding her gown clear of the grass with the other. She’s got that look, like Mambo has. Both of those ladies might have fitted fine in high society, except they weren’t born to it.
‘Allons-y,’ she says, ‘vite. We are ready. I have slipped les diables terribles what you give me, and you must come, quickly, maintenant. Ees working, I think. Vite.’
Mambo turns and squeezes both my hands in her own.
‘Remember Arletta. Remember all the pain ya feeling ’cause of them, and all them hard times they give ya when I was leaving ya like I’m shamed about. That’s my part in it. Remember it this night. Think on Eveline and ya gonna stay strong. If Nellie is out here, ya listen to her girl, and how she gives ya strength, and ya waitin’ to use it all this time. Feel ya strength, girl. This is it Arletta honey. Justice, it come.’
I throw my arms around my Mambo’s neck and she holds me close. Madame is rushing us and wants to know everything is ready.
‘Yes, everything is ready, and I’m ready Mambo. I’m ready. Madame, Mambo, go quickly. Go on.’
‘Ya my daughter and we do this right. An eye for an eye. All the time.’
‘An eye for an eye Mambo.’
‘Vite, there is no time!’
The grey swirling mist eats them up and their shadows move back towards the bordello. The Cajuns play and I’m left alone. Something splashes in the bayou.
Then I see them coming back. Two other shadows are moving with them, and it looks like they’ve all been on a barrel of hooch with the way they’re swaying all over the place.
Seymour’s wearing the same kind of pale suit he always wore and it’s the first thing I recognize coming out of the dark. An old instinct makes me want to run. I find myself backing off till I hit the bayou, my heart just about busting clean out of my chest. It’s beating so hard I hear it thumping in my ears and I feel like I’m right back all those years ago, and I’m up to my knees in cold water.
‘An eye for an eye.’
I know that voice.
‘An eye for an eye, chile.’
I think about Eveline lying raw and sore in her hospital bed with her parts torn so bad no child will ever grow in her belly. Just like me. I think about what he did that put her there and how he threw her out like a rag doll when he was done with it. Just like me. That turns me round good. I crawl out of the water, growling like Mambo at the dark moon. It’s time for me to be my Mambo’s daughter.
‘An eye for an eye.’
I get in among the low branches and thick hanging moss to wait for Mambo and Madame. As Mambo says, this is the time of reckoning and that’s the only right they’ve got left.
Then I hear his voice.
‘Oooh, promishes, promishes, laydees,’ Seymour drawls, groggy like he’s always been. I wonder how he’s still on this earth with all that gut rot he’s put away in his life. I clench my fists, breathe deep down in my belly and straighten my back.
I am the daughter of Mambo.
The daughter of Africa.
‘I don’t feel so good,’ I hear Mr McIntyre moaning.
‘Here now, y’all be havin’ y’self another drink honey, ya doin’ just fine,’ I
hear Mambo say. He doesn’t want it, but the next thing I see, she has that bottle tipping over into his mouth and he’s about choking on it.
‘That’s gonna have ya feelin’ a whole lot better in no time. Come on Mr McIntyre, I remember ya fine. I remember ya sure know how to have a good time.’
Seymour is giggling like he’s stupid.
‘Where are the girliesh? Ooh, hoo hoo! Madame, you are a bad, bad woman.’ He’s wagging that finger of his and just about falling over, except for Madame trying her best to keep him straight. ‘Girliesh? Where are you, girliesh?’
My stomach retches sore, but I swallow and breathe.
The music gets louder. It’s booming out now and I reckon Tout de suite is playing his part. Seymour is close enough for me to see the white of his eyes.
‘Girliesh, come to uncle little girlsh …’
He’s right under the tree. Madame reaches out her dainty foot to trip him up and he falls right at my feet.
‘Ooops a daishies,’ he says, as hopeless as a baby because he can’t get up. I have no clue what Mambo might have ground up from Pappy’s closet, or from what’s growing right there in our front yard, but it’s sure lost them both the power of their legs.
Madame waves her arm for me to bring the rope. I’m ready with it. She sets herself down astride him and the next thing I see she’s placing the noose around his neck. He’s still giggling.
I move towards them.
‘You remember Fifty Cents?’ It sounds like every measure of cold in that bayou is taken up in my voice.
‘Huh?’ He’s surprised to hear another adult voice there instead of his little girlies.
‘You remember little Eveline Gaudet?’ I ask.
What the River Washed Away Page 27