Island of a Thousand Springs

by Sarah Lark

  “And how will you stop me?” Nora asked.

  She knew that her voice sounded weak — there were no options for her at the moment, but did not want to back down. Surely she would come up with something new the next day.

  Akwasi laughed. “I can tell you! Do you know how the backra stopped my mother from doing the same thing?” he then said. “No? Then I’ll tell you. You know the shed next to the kitchen? The broom closet?”

  Nora nodded as her heart pounded. Sally had died in that shed.

  “I was born in there. After my mother spent six months in the dark, tied up against the wall. She didn’t want me, she was determined. As soon as she just had one hand free, she tried to kill herself and me, too. When I was born, I was taken away. On the next day, she drowned herself. An Ashanti princess. And did you think I wouldn’t be able to handle a white puppet?”

  Nora looked at Akwasi and her anger gave way to a sort of pity for the stubborn Ashanti princess — and even more so for the child who strove to be proud of a mother who wanted nothing more than to kill him. “My child has her blood,” Akwasi continued, “the blood of the chiefs. He will be a great warrior. The spirits will bless him.”

  “And people will call him a bastard or mestizo,” she cut him off. “Probably even ‘filthy bastard.’ And everyone will call him that — the blacks and the whites. There is no place in the world for children like this, Why won’t you just let it die, Akwasi? Why won’t you just let me go, and take a black woman instead?”

  Akwasi glared at her. “So that you can go back to Doug Fortnam? But you belong to me, Nora, and the child belongs to me, too. If it is hated, that is because of you!”

  Nora sighed. “It will also be because of you. It will be written on his face, since for some he will be black and for others, white. But at least he won’t be a slave child here, Akwasi,” she said. “Nanny will insist upon it. You have to marry me and the child will belong to me as much as it does you. I hope you will be happy with that, as happy as you, Máanu. Now let me go, Akwasi. I will go to the bathing area and wash up. And if there are still women there, then I will tell them that Akwasi’s wife is carrying his child. And from now on, no one will call me a slave again.”

  Akwasi let his eyes drift uneasily from Nora to Máanu. He wasn’t sure if he should really let Nora go.

  “What if she kills herself?” he asked, making an almost childlike expression toward Máanu.

  Nora turned to him before she could answer. “I am not going to kill myself, Akwasi, don’t worry about that. I am not a princess, but I’m also no coward. Nora Reed doesn’t run away like your wonderful mother did. If I am forced to bring a child into a hostile world, then I will show it the way through it. And if it must be, than I will take a knife and cut the way clear for my child! No matter who gets in my way. And now let me go. I am hot and sick. This often happens with pregnant women when they are punched in the stomach. With a bit of luck, Akwasi, you just killed your child.”

  Nora turned around and left the fire with her head held high. Akwasi and Máanu stared at her, but no one stopped her.

  Máanu couldn’t help feeling a certain admiration for her former mistress. This white woman had dignity! Máanu was not proud of her actions. Nora Fortnam had never betrayed a single one of the women she’d helped after an abortion at Cascarilla Gardens — and she had eventually gained enough experience on the plantation to recognize a pregnant woman. She could have easily told Elias if a slave had a child in her belly, but she never did. And, of course, Nora was not to blame for the fate of Akwasi’s mother in anyway. To punish her for that would be absurd.

  Máanu had wrestled with the idea before she told Akwasi of her suspicions about Nora. And Nora was right: Máanu was hurting herself with it. In the recent weeks, she had become closer to Akwasi than she ever had been at Cascarilla Gardens. There, she had always been the house slave and he the despised field slave. But here, they were both highly esteemed advisors to the queen — skilled in the magical arts of reading and writing, at least as the Africans perceived it.

  It would have only been logical for Máanu and Akwasi to marry and they would be showered with gifts from Nanny and Quao. And anyway, Máanu suspected that Akwasi’s attraction to Nora had worn off. Nora also seemed to no longer desire Akwasi. She was probably just one of those women who wanted every man only once or twice in bed before moving on, bored. Undoubtedly a whore, undoubtedly appealing for a former slave. But in the long run, no competition for a woman like Máanu. But now she had helped her into a secure position. Máanu knew that what had done was crazy, but she hadn’t been able to help herself: Nora had stolen Akwasi, used her spell for herself, abused her trust … The young woman still went into a furious rage when she thought about Nora Fortnam. She wanted to hurt the white woman and ruin her life, as she had robbed Máanu of her dreams. Even if she now still managed to win Akwasi over for herself — her dream of a great, real love was destroyed.

  Which didn’t stop Máanu from pursuing her plans. While Akwasi watched Nora, she calmly reached for a piece of bread and dipped it in the dish that was still simmering over the fire.

  “So, you’re going to be a father, Akwasi,” she said.

  Akwasi nodded, dazed. “I am indebted to you,” he said, with visible reluctance.

  Máanu nodded. “Yes,” she agreed. “You owe me a child.”

  Akwasi wanted to fly into a rage, but Máanu’s composure made him stop. The young woman chewed her bread without any emotion.

  “What is that supposed to mean?” he growled. “You want the white woman’s child?”

  Máanu shook her head. “What would I do with your bastard?” she said, with a crooked smile. “She’s right; no one will ever respect that child. I want my own child, Akwasi. The son of a chief, a child who plays at the feet of the queen, who calls her Granny … Granny Nanny, in case you haven’t noticed, has no heirs.”

  Akwasi thought about it. “But for that I would have to marry you,” he considered.

  Máanu shrugged. “What’s stopping you?” she asked.

  He frowned. “Well … Nora … She is … she is right, the queen will insist that I—”

  Máanu fixed her gaze on him. “Are you Christian, Akwasi?” she asked.

  Akwasi glared at her. “Of course not! This unspeakable Reverend Stevens … How could I worship his God?”

  “Are you something else?” Máanu inquired. Her face looked almost mischievous, similar to her sister Mansah. “I once stole a chicken for the Obeah man,” Akwasi confessed, without considering the specific circumstances.

  “That doesn’t count,” Máanu said. “Obeah is … Obeah is just a bit of magic. But Nanny, she has a proper religion. She told me about it. The Ashanti have powerful gods.”

  “And?” Akwasi asked.

  Máanu smiled. “The gods of our ancestors allowed great warriors to have several wives …”

  “So, you reconsidered?” Tolo asked and sat beside Nora.

  She had been invited to the great ceremony in which Granny Nanny wanted to bind Akwasi and Máanu according to the Ashanti tradition. Máanu was still a special confidant to the queen and she insisted on a celebration in which all of Nanny Town could participate.

  “You’re still pregnant, are you not?”

  Nora nodded reluctantly and pushed into the shadow of the bushes, under which Tolo found protection from the burning sun and the eyes of other women. For days, they forced her to work again. Day and night, they had baked and cooked, slaughtered, roasted, and brewed for the wedding. Nora hardly had a minute’s rest — and above all, she didn’t have a second without supervision. Meanwhile, every woman in Nanny town now knew that Akwasi’s slave was pregnant. Of course, people whispered about him taking another woman anyway — only the Africans from tribes where polygamy was common, and the Muslims, found this behavior understandable: a first wife always had more rights than a second. It was unthinkable for Akwasi to first raise up a slave and then enter a marriage with an equa
l.

  Nora was all right with the succession: she considered a forced marriage with a former slave not to be valid and hoped to eventually be freed and able to return to her own world.

  “It was not my decision,” she said now. “I made a mistake; I should have drunk your potion immediately. Now they won’t let me out of their sight.”

  Nora stood up with a sigh, as one of the Maroon women pushed a branch from the bush to the side, found her behind it, and looked at her reproachfully.

  Tolo shrugged. “Take it as the will of the gods,” she said, even tempered. “But she is still not carrying a child?”

  She pointed to Máanu, who was being led into Nanny’s round hut, along with the sounds of chants and blessings.

  Nora shook her head. “Not so far. But she wants one — and it looks as if she always gets what she wants.” She glanced angrily at Máanu.

  “That doesn’t necessarily make one happy,” Tolo said, calmly. “Especially when you have such strange desires. And by the way: I am here because she wanted it. I am Dogon, like Máanu’s mother. And she insisted on being prepared for the wedding based on our customs. Him too. Her husband, that is, but Nanny surely tried to dissuade him. It is not common with the Ashanti. But these niggers would love to revive all of the African customs that anyone can remember, no matter what area they come from or what tribe. On the inside, Akwasi is whiter than you. So, I will take care of my duties — and you pray for Máanu.” With these incomprehensible words, Tolo got up and disappeared into Nanny’s hut. Nora stayed behind, confused. Why should she pray for Máanu? Composed, she went back to her sweat-inducing work — Nora was sent to turn the spit, on which an entire ox was cooking over the fire. Just the smell of it spoiled her appetite for the feast later. She was still struggling with nausea.

  Surprisingly, Granny Nanny seemed to be having a similar time. The Ashanti Queen seemed pale and worn out when she came out of her hut an hour later — the herbal vapours and infernal noise that had stopped since Tolo entered the hut seemed to have gone to her head. The women chanted traditional songs that sounded like they were also screaming to Nora’s ears. But Nora had enough to do with her own discomfort to be analyzing the liturgy of African wedding rites. The sounds of drums had been going on almost incessantly for days at this point; their monotonous effect on the eardrum deadened any normal ability to hear.

  Nora didn’t observe the queen any longer, if only because the feast was beginning and she as well as the unmarried Maroon girls were responsible for serving the people celebrating. Akwasi was sitting absentmindedly when Nora brought him meat, flat bread, spicy pastes, and stews made of legumes. The queen talked to Quao and some other Ashanti women from Africa. The Africans were quarreling about something again. Nora wasn’t listening. She was tired, her back hurt, and she just longed for some rest, and maybe another conversation with Tolo. Surely the old healer knew of a remedy for her nausea. But Tolo had not left Nanny’s hut yet. Nora slowly began to wonder what she was doing there and why Máanu hadn’t come out. But maybe it was common in Africa for man and wife to separate before the wedding. Nora had too much to do to bother thinking about it.

  It was only when the evening had already progressed that she found a reasonably quiet place, and now she thought she could also tolerate some beans and stew. Just as she’d put the spook into the bowl, she heard a faint cry and someone pulled at her skirt.

  “Missis … Missis has to go to Máanu. Woman, witch, did something terrible, she screams, and cries, and bleeds. Everyone say was not bad and that I have to stay with her because am sister. But I think is very bad, I like to show Missis … please, Missis!”

  Mansah seemed shaken; she was deathly pale and scared.

  Nora took her in her arms. “Máanu won’t have me there, no matter what has happened to her,” she said. “And if Tolo is with her, she will surely be well-looked after.”

  Mansah shook her head vehemently. “Cut it herself, witch Tolo! With knife. Máanu says must be that way. Part of wedding. But cannot be, Missis? I thought wedding beautiful!”

  “At least it should be,” Nora sighed.

  She was curious. What could Tolo have done to Máanu? Or what had Máanu wanted Tolo to do to her? Since Tolo had been reluctant about her mission, she must have known after all.

  “All right, Mansah, I’ll go with you and offer my help to Máanu. But she will throw me out, I know that already. I am only doing it so that you are not afraid.”

  Nora expected to be stopped at any moment by one of the other women or even one of the men that were celebrating in the square. But at that point, they all had been given plentiful freshly brewed grain beer and rum. Most of the singing went quiet and many of the guests seemed sleepy. Only a few were still dancing tirelessly around the fire, but they had no view of the scared little girl and the white woman who was approaching Nanny’s home. Mansah pushed aside the blanket that hung in front of the entrance.

  “Máanu?” she asked, shyly, and then more frantically: “Máanu! She is dead, Missis, she is definitely dead!”

  Nora, who was peering into the room from behind her, saw Máanu on a blanket. The young woman’s eyes were closed and she looked pale, but she was not dead.

  “Shh, she’s finally asleep. Don’t wake her up again!” Tolo came to the door and ordered the terrified child to be quiet. “You’re not missing anything, girl, she survived it well. I have just given her a sleeping potion, but there was so much noise outside, she couldn’t fall asleep … and of course, it hurt.”

  “What happened?” Nora asked, and pushed her way into the hut.

  She had been afraid of Máanu’s hatred, but she wasn’t scared of Tolo. The old woman didn’t hesitate to let her in.

  “I cut her, which is common for our people,” she explained with a somber facial expression. “I told her that it needn’t be done. She has been a woman for a long time; there was no doubt about it. She has conceived children … even if she didn’t bear them. And it’s also done much earlier, rather at her age.” She pointed to Mansah, who hid behind Nora whimpering.

  “They do what?” Nora did not understand.

  She then walked up to Máanu’s bed and saw that the young woman was breathing quietly. She saw bloodstains on the blanket. Without asking any further questions, she lifted the blanket — and saw a thick cushion of leaves and bandages between Máanu’s legs.

  “But she wasn’t pregnant,” she said, still not understanding. Up until then, she had only seen such a thing with women who had recently been to the baarm madda to abort a child.

  Tolo shook her head. “No, of course not. And I didn’t cut off much. Just the bare necessities. Because she so desperately wanted it.”

  Nora suddenly remembered. Some slaves that she had seen bathing at Cascarilla Gardens had been mutilated between their legs, sometimes more, sometimes less. She had seen it more clearly on Adwea. Is sign that I grown woman, she explained. Nora had not asked about it then. But she felt sorry for the women. After all, those were exactly the places where it tingled and from which all of the desire and pleasure seemed to come when a man was preparing to love a woman.

  “But why the devil would she have wanted that?”

  Nora looked helplessly back and forth from Máanu to Tolo.

  Mansah sat down beside Máanu and cried softly.

  “It’s the Dogon custom,” Tolo explained. “They say that every person is born as a man and a woman. And so they would all have to be cut — the man the female parts and the women the male parts — when they grow up.”

  Nora put her hand to her forehead. “But that is nonsense!”

  Tolo shrugged. “The queen also told her the same thing. The Ashanti don’t do it and still have children.” Nora felt dizzy again. She seemed to live in a completely mad world! But she then remembered that she had never cared for a circumcised woman after an abortion. Only the proud, warlike Ashanti refused to bear children in slavery. The gentler Dogon didn’t kill their offspring.

>   “But Akwasi is Ashanti!” Nora objected. “How can he support this?”

  Tolo raised her eyebrows. “Akwasi is white on the inside,” she said, contemptuously. “I’ve already told you. He doesn’t want a queen, he wants a well-behaved Christian girl who only obeys his wishes and doesn’t even enjoy love. And that she also doesn’t cheat on him. And that is his greatest fear. So never reveal to him if you desire other men, white woman. Otherwise he’ll also force you to do that.” She pointed to Máanu and gently covered her again.

  Nora sighed. She already knew that much about Akwasi. And she could take no satisfaction in the fact that Máanu would not be enjoying her wedding night.

  CHAPTER 7

  Máanu presided over her wedding ceremony the next day with a pale face. She sat with her legs spread apart on a stool, which Akwasi gave her as a traditional gift, and when it came to carrying the many other gifts to her hut, she needed help. On the morning after the wedding, she didn’t show her face, and Mansah worriedly reported that she couldn’t get up. Nora wasn’t surprised, as undoubtedly her night with Akwasi had been terrible. However, Tolo assured them that there was no danger to her life.

  “I really didn’t cut off much, only just enough for her to be satisfied — her and him. She can also still feel something, only now she has no pleasure with her husband; there are still open wounds. As I said, it’s usually done much, much earlier. Long before the woman is touched for the first time.”

  Tolo glanced at Mansah questioningly, but she had once again sought protection in Nora’s skirts.

  “She can’t cut me, Missis! Missis, you watch!” she pleaded.

  Tolo shook her head. “No one is forcing you, girl, you’re lucky. Granny Nanny refuses it. Otherwise … In our home no one protected us and believe me, they cut deeper than I did with your sister. Now go to Máanu, child, and care for her a bit. In a few days, she is back to her old self, never fear.”

  Of course, Nora knew better. No matter how well someone was looked after, there was always a chance that the wounds would get infected. People could die from what were initially harmless injuries. But she didn’t want to scare Mansah. And Máanu would have rejected her own help. Besides, the former maid had accompanied her to visit patients often enough. She must have actually known quite well how to keep wounds clean herself.