by Anita Kopacz
Obatala kisses my eyelids, cheeks, ears… neck.
A surge of energy hits me like an enormous wave, and we both dive in together. He rips off my clothes as my body arches in immense pleasure. He caresses the small of my back and pulls me in close to his chest. My body trembles and the ocean inside of me begins to flow out. His strong arms hold me. Our breath becomes one as we seal our love.
* * *
I wake up wrapped in a burlap bag ripped into a blanket. Obatala must have created it while I was sleeping, then drawn it over us. As I blink my eyes open, he is already awake, and staring at me.
“Let’s run away,” I say. “We can break through these walls.”
Smiling, Obatala strokes my face. “It is not just about us anymore. I have a responsibility. I have been working with Moses.”
I reach into my little leather pouch, pull out his letter, and slowly unfold it.
He gently covers my hand and begins to recite the poem in my ear, from memory:
You love me the way
Water loves the earth…
I close my eyes and feel my heart expand as my love speaks.
“Moses had someone write it down for me. So, she found you,” he says. His smile conveys both pleasure and surprise. “She is a powerful force, that woman. She told me that we would be in each other’s arms again…” He stops short.
“What?”
“Nothing, my love,” he says, and he kisses my forehead.
Did Moses tell him something dreadful? Like she told me? I don’t want to taint my moment with worry. I lay my head on Obatala’s chest, and I feel his heartbeat on my skin.
The tracks begin to squeal as the train starts to slow down. Obatala looks at me and says, “It’s time.”
Reluctantly, I peel away from his chest. My heart seems to stay with him. I already feel the void beginning to grow. I stop.
“I don’t want to live without you ever again,” I say, trying to hold back my tears.
“I am always with you, my love,” he says, kissing my lips.
He walks over to the other side of the car to retrieve my clothing. We dress as the train takes its time pulling into the station. I pick up the metal mask and collar. I am sick. Am I to place this over my love’s head? There are bloodstains on the metal. I scratch my nail on the dried gore as I look into Obatala’s eyes.
“Be strong, my love,” he says, guiding my hands to his face.
He closes his eyes as I place the bloody mask over him. I wrap the large spiked collar around his neck, careful not to harm his three precious scars. The lump in my throat has returned, and I can barely breathe as I prepare him for Phineas.
21
FREE
The master needs to make an example of us before the eyes of the other slaves. The overseer ties my wrists around the same stake I saw after Phineas found me at the river during my ceremony. My fears of being burned at the stake are long gone. Obatala stares at me from across the crowd. They tied him to a tree to await his fate.
As I embrace the splintery pole, the smell of cedar wood fills my senses. I look around at the congregating people, and I recognize almost everyone. The children, Godmother, and the pregnant women, who have given birth to their babies since we last saw each other. All of these people had so much faith in me. They are my family. They are the people who honored and celebrated me, who knew who I was before I knew myself.
“Witch!” Phineas yells as he approaches from a distance.
The game feels old. He cracks the whip on the ground as he nears me. He bellows, “I’ll teach you never to run again. I will always find you!”
He slashes the leather whip against my back and rips my flesh apart. My body remains calm and relaxed. There’s no longer anything to fight against. The master continues to whip me, lacerating my back with multiple blows. My body becomes weak, and I hang from the stake by my injured wrists.
At the sight of my submission, Phineas ceases the beating and turns toward the slaves. He begins to lecture them on disobedience and punishment. The morning dew, still thick in the air, settles on my freshly wounded skin. My webs slowly emerge and begin to wrap around my back.
Whispers fall from the mouths of the slaves during Phineas’s tirade.
Phineas demands, “What are you all muttering about?”
The overseer timidly interjects, “Master, you should really see this.”
Phineas rushes to me and violently wipes the webs from my back. He drops the whip and trips backward in disbelief as he witnesses my perfectly healed skin.
“There’s… there’s no way. Impossible!” he stammers.
He turns to the overseer and barks, “Pick up the whip!”
“Sir…” he begs.
“Pick up the whip and beat her again!”
The overseer backs away from the crowd and mumbles, “I ain’t never seen anything like that in my life.”
The congregation of slaves begin to chant: “Yemaya… Yemaya… Yemaya.”
I pull my wrists apart, and the tangled twine falls to the ground. Phineas stands with his mouth agape, frozen in bewilderment. I kick the whip to him and saunter over to the chanting slaves.
I smile. I am free! Not a freedom that I have to prove or see, but a freedom that I can feel. The people gather tools and sticks for protection as they follow behind me. I walk up to Obatala and untie the rope from around his wrists.
Obatala grabs me, wrenches me around, and yells, “No!”
He jumps in front of me.
BANG!
Phineas holds a smoking rifle.
Obatala falls into my arms. I can’t stop shaking as I try to hold him up. His eyes say it all. I drop to my knees and lay him down on the bloodstained ground. My webs surround his chest, trying relentlessly to evade the inevitable.
Chaos breaks out around me, but everything seems to be miles away. Obatala struggles to catch his breath.
“Yemaya… you are the One,” he whispers as his body goes limp.
I hold him. I hold him hard. I don’t ever want to live without him again. I don’t want this to be the end.
FIVE YEARS LATER
The blue of the ocean beckons as I sit on the white sands. I can hear drums playing in the distance. Cuba reminds me so much of home. The leather pouch around my neck has faded. I pull the tattered letter from Obatala out of it.
You love me the way
Water loves the earth.
Soil, seeds,
Flowers, trees.
Pouring forth life.
Raining down love,
Gathering in sparkling, crystal drops of light.
You love me the way water loves me.
I remember once
The water of your love
Became something more…
It was a part of all the water there is.
And I had to look away from you
Because in that moment,
I spied the other half of myself.
“Mamá,” little Obatala calls as he runs into my arms, his eyes as black as the mysterious realms of the ocean. “Cuéntame la historia de Papá otra vez.”
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
They say it takes a village to raise a child—well, it took a village to write this book! I thank all of my friends and family who read and reread my manuscript. To Charlemagne Tha God and Yadi Alba, thank you for listening to your divine inspiration and making this happen! A special thanks to Marisha Scott; Suzanne Potts; Dr. Velma Love; Michael B. Beckwith; Dr. Yaba Blay; Raymond Garcia; Vanessa Standard; Brett Wright; Leah Lakins; Syntyché Francella; Corey Marshall; k. Neycha Herford; Petra E. Lewis; Laura Cherkas; Chelsea Cohen; Lee Thompson Young; Milena Brown; Raaga Rajagopala; Shida Carr; Lisa Sciambra; Libby McGuire; and my awesome editor, Nicholas Ciani, I could not have done this without you. Molly Findlay, thank you for creating the amazing painting of Yemaya for my cover and Kristina Casarez for creating my original cover. To Kesha Lambert, my beautiful cousin, for taking my author photograph. To Daphne Douge, my ride
or die! Erica Dumas, we have been through it! Thank you for standing by my side. To Whitney Davis-Houston, Darya Danesh, Kimberly McCullough, Jan Miller, Ali Kominsky, Nena Madonia Oshman, and Karen Kinney, thank you for putting those boxing gloves on for me! So great to know I have you all in my corner.
To Mom, you are my inspiration. Dad, you are my motivator. Sharon Kopacz, thank you for believing in me and supporting my process when I couldn’t afford to put food on the table. Yvonna Kopacz, thank you for letting me read you parts of the book everyday for years (tears). Michelle and Jove, thanks for keeping me on point, and Michi, thank you for always diving into our imaginations as kids. Nikki, thank you for always believing in me and knowing when to pray for me. Dani and Jatiana, I love you. Sheldon, Sadie, Tela, and Mayan, thank you for your infinite patience. I am so glad you all got to witness this process from the beginning. To my village of amazing friends who have seen me set intentions, write tirelessly, and listen to my endless ideas: Shaman Durek, Doro, Dinan, Sheila, Emmet, Iesha, Jamillah, Cora, Coriann, Natalie, Sabrina, Lee, Javier, Hague, Allison, Ayoka, Nidia, Rachel, Tasha, Adamme, Cathleen, Bonnie, Khairah, Crystal, Domino, Leora, Margie, Malaak, Misty, Onesta, Marzi, Leonie, Bianca, Alyssa, Courtney, Erica, Sarah, Shelly, Tischen, Jason, Jayson, Michelle, Laika, Celine, Chez, Krista, Boris, Nicole, Yona, Sharon L, Audra, Cynthia, Rebecca, Elliott, Daphne, Anel, Chris, Julianna, Angela, Angelique, Joe, Daniella, John, Amaris, Vanessa, Dominique, Shauna, Jodi, Kehinde, Tai, Danielle, Melissa, Olivia, Nickie, Lysee, Sharmilla, Lisa, Ash, Tracy, Mrs. Ashlock, Mrs. Stallings, Kristy, Anthony, Chuck, Whitney, Mr. Baldwin Style, Courtney, DJ John Quick, Pree, Faith, Alexis, Belyne, Connie, Elena, Kristi, T (Coco Wrangler), Sade, Jamie, Greg, Tiffany, Kim, Elizabeth, Danielle, Lynnette, D’Vita, Mr. Murray, Ina, Jaela,Jasmine, Jenn, Jo-Na, The Julies, Christine, Deb, Erica, Alyssa, Ysabel, Yetta, Kristina, Kyndra, LaToia, Laura, Laurence, Leeza, Linda, Luna, Maritza, Martha, Matt, Meilan, Mariposa, Mercedes, Sari, Taunglea, Tommieka, Tisa, Wendy, ElleVictoria, Christian, Esi, Emelia, Eurila, Faith, Ghebilet, Davena, Don, June, Kasey, Tracie, Stephanie, Ginny, Corwin, Psalm, Chaka, Emily, Norisol, Kyle, Gavin, Bodhi, Camalah, Donte, Kim, Stevie, Aaliyah, Vinnie, Erica, Brianna, Donna, Vida, Nealand, Aiyisha, Venessa, Jacque, Lizzie, Keithley, Yolanda, Jamali, Flo Flo, Pearline, Iris, Debbie, Trever, Spencer, Igal, Juliette, Tanesha, Patty, Richard, Yvette, Stuart, Stanford, John, Eddie, Sonjay, Estherly, Terrence, Grenville, Irvin, Susan, Michelle, Keithroy, Glen, Amanda, Edwin, Sankofa, Doxa, Andreas, Uncle Jurek, Uncle Brother, Auntie Rita, Uncle Keith, Auntie Margaret, Uncle Allan, Aunt Gloria, Uncle Hiram, Aunt Tita, Uncle Eddie, Charlotte, Aunt Cito, Auntie Apple, Uncle Baldwin, Auntie Val, Auntie Brenda, Aunt Chi Chi, Ron, Mary, Ambar, Jada, Ryan, Vito, Maya, Riley, Jameson, Ora, Chantelle ×2, Collette, Leah, Briana, Jamie, Simone, Lauren, Jade, Jessica, Hanna, Auntie Soph, Uncle Eddie, and all of the rest of my family! To Nana Dot and Pop Pop, thank you for creating my love. All my nieces and nephews, I love you more than words can say: Aiden, Lola, Marley, Sasha, Davis, Xander, Xochi, Althea, Ali, Eden, and Deja.
Last, but definitely not least, I thank God, Yemaya, Oshun, Oya, Idemili, and my ancestors, especially my grandmothers.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Anita Kopacz is an award-winning writer and spiritual psychologist. She is the former editor in chief of Heart & Soul magazine and managing editor of BeautyCents magazine. When she is not writing, you can find her on the dance floor or traveling the world with her children. Anita lives in New York with her family.
SimonandSchuster.com
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YEMAYA,
AS IMAGINED BY FEATURED ARTIST PHAFA ROY
S. PhaFa Roy, @phafaroy
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This book is a work of fiction. Any references to historical events, real people, or real places are used fictitiously. Other names, characters, places, and events are products of the author’s imagination, and any resemblance to actual events or places or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
Copyright © 2021 by Anita Kopacz
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Interior design by A. Kathryn Barrett
Jacket design by James Iacobelli
Artwork courtesy of Molly Findlay
Author photograph by Kesha Lambert
Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data has been applied for.
ISBN 978-1-9821-7966-3
ISBN 978-1-9821-7760-7 (ebook)