The Jumbie God's Revenge

by Tracey Baptiste

  Bouki and Malik pulled Dru to her feet. Hugo and Aunty Lu walked toward them side by side. The baker said something and Aunty Lu laughed.

  Dru heard ringing in her ears and then a loud rush, like the roar of the sea. The sound of mud squelching underfoot came after, and of people talking all at once. Up ahead, Pierre and Mrs. Chow ran, full speed, toward the peak.

  Malik pointed into the sky.

  “Look!” Bouki said. He pointed in the same direction as his brother.

  Something was falling. Fast.

  47

  Mon Coeur

  The sky turned a brighter shade of blue.

  The sea, still midnight-dark, pushed debris onto shore. Broken branches, leaves, and small pieces of stone and coral lined the fringes of water in a long, rippling scroll that matched the edge of the waves.

  Among the dreck lay a beautiful woman with dark skin that glowed like copper in the predawn light. Her tightly braided hair spread around her face. She wore a pale blue blouse and a brighter blue skirt in a pattern that shimmered like stars. A man with long braided hair emerged from a screen of leaves near the shore. He fell to his knees near the woman and gently brushed a braid from her face.

  “Cherie,” he said.

  The woman stirred and lifted her head toward him. She traced the outline of a few wrinkles around his eyes and a scar that wrapped like a vine over his arm. “Mon coeur!”

  “So, we have decided then,” he said. “We cannot go back.”

  “Everything is right here,” she said. “What is there to miss?”

  The man pulled her to standing and the two walked into the trees.

  48

  Things You Do for Family

  Pierre observed the couple from the space at the top of the hill where his home with Corinne had been. He wasn’t watching for Papa Bois and Mama D’Leau, of course, or for their human selves. He was watching for Corinne like he always did, whether he was on land or on the sea.

  After the hurricane ended, he and Mrs. Chow had scrambled toward the top of the mountain. They came to a halt in front of the twiggy creature holding Marlene. Mrs. Chow approached it carefully, holding out her arms, and the creature had given up the child easily.

  “Severine?” Pierre said.

  Severine rubbed her branches together, squeaking in response.

  Mrs. Chow removed the wrap she had tied around her waist and placed it over Severine’s body.

  “Where is Corinne?” Pierre asked.

  A thin twig pointed up to the sky and then traced down to the sea.

  Pierre collapsed against a boulder.

  “Don’t forget, she will need her skin,” Marlene said quietly. She pointed at the calabash gourd in Severine’s long, hard fingers.

  Severine straightened up, rearranging herself into something nearly like a woman. “I will get her,” she said. She dashed off down the side of the mountain, head over twiggy foot, bouncing over the rocks with the calabash safely nestled among her limbs.

  Pierre had no choice but to climb down the mountain. As he made his way back to the house, he thought about what he had overheard Papa Bois and Mama D’Leau talking about—being their true selves. If that was what Corinne needed, for them all to do what they were best at, Pierre had failed. He was best at taking care of Corinne, but it felt like a long time since he had been able to do that well. His body was weary and his heart was heavy in his chest.

  It was still dark when he arrived and found their home flattened, with just the foundation and stairs left standing. He sat at the top of the hill and scanned the sky and the sea. He didn’t feel the cool breeze, or the hard ground.

  In the first rays of morning light, he picked out the pieces of their lives that had survived the hurricane. There was a cup and the knives they used to slice the fish, the lone dress Corinne ever wore, and the left sandal of a leather pair that had gotten too small for her growing feet.

  Pierre piled them on one of the stone foundation pillars and sat against it, watching the sea and sky. In one hand he held a warm orange from Corinne’s tree. He had found it half-buried in the dirt in the middle of the wreckage of the house. He turned it over and over. Its scent was strong and sharp and sweet. Like Corinne, he thought.

  Pierre waited hour after hour until he was nearly blinded by the sunlight reflecting off the waves. Slowly people from the fishing village filtered back to their homes and began the long, aching work of pulling out what little there was to save.

  Below on the beach, Laurent and his little brothers and sisters helped Mrs. Duval. Laurent was minding the younger ones as they searched for things they had loved among all the mess.

  Pierre used one of the knives to peel the orange. He ate it, and he waited.

  When the sun was high in the sky, Marlene arrived at the top of the hill.

  “Mr. La Mer?” she said.

  “Yes, Marlene?”

  “Miss will bring her back,” she said. “I told her what to do with Corinne’s skin.”

  Pierre held back tears. “Thank you, Marlene.”

  Marlene held her hand out to Pierre. “Come.” Marlene led him around the debris and toward the beach. They went down the hill to the lacy fringe of waves that continued to push items onto shore. A comb. A necklace of beads. A hair ribbon.

  Two dark spots appeared on the horizon, and then another and another. They got larger as Pierre and Marlene watched.

  “Boats!” Marlene declared.

  The people on the beach looked up from their salvage work and watched the boats come in. When the vessels came close, their occupants began to tumble out. They had nothing in their hands, little on their backs, and desperation in their eyes.

  “We have lost everything,” a man said as he set foot on shore.

  Pierre grabbed the rope the man tossed to him, and together they pulled the boat from the water.

  “Our island is flat,” the man continued. “There is not even a single leaf on a tree.”

  Nearly everyone from the fishing village moved into the water to gather up the people from the boats and help them onto dry land.

  “Where are these people from?” Victor snarled. “We lost everything, too. They should go back home.”

  “You should shut up,” Laurent said sharply as he took a wailing baby while his own mother helped the baby’s shivering mother out of the boat.

  People came out of their homes with blankets, sheets, curtains—anything dry enough to wrap around the shivering refugees.

  “Fools!” Victor snapped. “What will you sleep under?”

  Abner handed a piece of board to Victor. It was green, the color of his fishing boat. “That is yours, mister,” he said. “I can help you fix it.”

  Victor glared. “You?”

  “We help each other, and I am good with a hammer.”

  “No, he is not,” Mrs. Duval said, cocking an eyebrow. But a smile pulled at her mouth. “But he is right. We do help one another, Victor. Here.” She handed him a small, wriggling boy. “Make yourself useful.”

  Victor deposited the boy in the sand gently. “Stay,” he said a little gruffly. “It’s safe here.” Then he returned to the boat and steadied it as more people poured out.

  All day, boats arrived and people poured from them, sandy, starved, thirsty, and distraught.

  Night came again, and there was no Corinne. Pierre and Marlene waited, watching the sun sink, until Mrs. Chow took Marlene’s hand and pulled her home. Marlene gave Pierre a hard look, as if she was pinning him to the shore to wait.

  It was the first thing that made Pierre smile that day.

  When the moon was high, Hugo, Bouki, and Malik came to persuade Pierre to join them in the bakery.

  “We’ve got two families from the boats,” Hugo explained. “But there’s plenty more room for you, Pierre.” He glanced up at
the house on the hill. “You need somewhere to stay.”

  Pierre shook his head, but he was convinced to take a small meal of two cheese loaves. Only when he unwrapped the brown paper, it was one and a half loaves.

  “Sorry,” Bouki said, wiping a crumb from the side of his mouth.

  Malik kicked him in the ankle.

  It was the second thing that made Pierre smile that day.

  Something rocked on the surface of the water as Pierre bit into what remained of his meal. All four of them walked cautiously toward the shape. It was a tangle of branches, cupped like a nest, with someone curled inside it, lying on a brightly colored scarf.

  “Corinne,” Pierre said softly.

  A creature peeked out that was Corinne and not Corinne. It had her soft brown eyes and the long hair that Pierre carefully plaited every night, but where Corinne’s bright smile should have been, drool dripped from sharp teeth in a red, angry mouth. Her body was covered in scales, fish-bright on one side and snake-dull on the other. One of her hands was dark as ash with blue flame playing around the fingers. The other was hairy at the knuckles with claws at the end of her fingers. One leg ended in a floppy fish tail with a bright orange fin, while the other was a girl’s leg with a goat’s hoof where the foot should be.

  “What is that?” Bouki said.

  Malik squinted at the nest. “Corinne.”

  Hugo gasped but Pierre was still. He reached out carefully to pull the nest to shore. Hugo, Bouki, and Malik each took one part of the nest and dragged it to the sand.

  The thing that was Corinne and not Corinne sniffed at Pierre and growled.

  Pierre reached his hand to her slowly.

  Malik put his hand in, too, and smiled.

  Then Hugo.

  Bouki cocked his head at her and narrowed his eyes.

  Corinne finally moved her flame hand toward her papa’s. As she did the fire went out, so when they touched, her hand was the same brown it had always been.

  Pierre offered his other hand.

  Corinne and not Corinne grabbed it and Pierre pulled gently. Her claws scratched at him, but he didn’t flinch. Her eyes softened. Then her mouth plumped from an angry red line to soft pink lips. Corinne got to her knees. The fish scales on her right fell away like sugar crystals off a tamarind ball. The snake scales on her left smoothed out to deep brown. Her claws retracted and the coarse brown hair on her arms blew away in a soft breeze.

  Pierre reached in, taking Corinne out. She lifted her legs up and over the side of the nest. As she touched water, the fish tail dissolved and her right foot softened and unfurled. On the left, her hoof changed to wriggling toes. By the time she splashed down in the water, there were only a few orange scales left clinging to her clothes. Pierre gathered her up in his arms.

  “Papa,” Corinne said.

  “Welcome home,” Pierre said.

  Corinne pointed to the water where the tangle of branches was rearranging itself until it was Severine again. Severine tied the scarf around herself and stepped out of the water, holding the calabash gourd stiffly in front of her as if she might need to use it for protection.

  “Thank you,” Pierre said to the jumbie.

  Severine glanced sheepishly at him and whispered, “I told you I would find her.”

  49

  Wire Bend

  Corinne sat between Mrs. Duval’s knees on the front steps of the porch. She held a measuring cup filled with orange beads, which Mrs. Duval was threading on the ends of Corinne’s braids. Nearby, Laurent had a can of pink paint that he slathered on the fresh wood walls in big brushstrokes.

  “There,” Mrs. Duval said. “Perfect.”

  Corinne shook her head and the beads clicked in rhythm.

  “You’d better go, or you will miss everything,” Mrs. Duval added.

  Corinne bowed her thanks and slapped Laurent on the arm. “You will meet me there?” she asked before running off.

  He nodded and waved the paintbrush, dripping pink on the grass and a red-and-yellow croton plant.

  Corinne topped the hill and ran full out, past the mahogany forest that was springing up with young trees.

  Two tall men, larger than seemed possible (and hairier, too), came out of the woods shouldering a pair of logs. They walked to an empty lot near the old dry well and heaved the logs onto a pile. Another man, smaller than the first two, was cutting the logs into planks with an axe. A sawhorse stood surrounded by curled wood chips near where they had been planing each plank smooth. The wood smelled sweetly of oranges and mahogany. As Corinne walked by, the largest of the men smiled, showing sharp teeth. The skin around his yellowish-brown eyes crinkled. Corinne waved hello. It made her smile to see the lagahoo trying out their human forms, enough that they almost looked like family to the man who was helping them build.

  Corinne skipped toward the marketplace, her newly sewn dress swinging around her. It was a small green thing with a pattern of darker green leaves, and it fluttered around her knees. She had a freshly cobbled pair of leather sandals on her feet that squeaked a little when she moved. It felt unusual not to be wearing her work clothes, but today wasn’t a workday. Not for her.

  Corinne ducked under a pair of women carrying a long bolt of cloth in their arms. She greeted them and they smiled back, but their faces weren’t familiar. Past the full well and down the path that led to the baker’s shop, Corinne dodged people walking with baskets of produce on their heads or tin buckets filled with screws and nails.

  All around her, the air smelled of wood and grass and cotton and sweat.

  Corinne knocked on the bakery door. It was not a workday for the baker either. His work had been done the day before, though she was sure there would be a few last-minute touches.

  Bouki swung open the top of the Dutch door. “A dress!” he said, grinning. “Is that what took you so long?” He unlatched the rest of the door and he and Malik spilled out. “Hugo left early, and we’re missing all the food.”

  Corinne arched an eyebrow at the boys’ crisp embroidered shirts and short pants with sharply ironed seams.

  “This was Hugo’s idea,” Bouki said. “I told him we were fine in our regular clothes.”

  “Not for a wedding,” Corinne said.

  They took off at a fast pace. Near the marketplace, Marlene caught up with them. She was in a pink dress with blue flowers. Matching pink ribbons were tied tightly in her pigtails. When Malik hung back for her, she put her hand in his.

  “I like your shorts,” she said.

  “I like your ribbons,” Malik replied.

  They swung hands and took off skipping ahead.

  “Are you going to explain what happened to Huracan?” Bouki asked Corinne.

  She took a deep breath. “I was scared,” she admitted. “He was strong. Stronger than Severine. Stronger than Papa Bois and Mama D’Leau. I didn’t know what I could do to stop him, so I decided that I wouldn’t. He wanted to strike me with his lightning. He was going to do it no matter what. I could feel everyone straining below in the water and under the land, doing their part, and somehow I knew that my part was to take the hit.” She paused.

  “Well?” Bouki shouted.

  “He threw a bolt of lightning at me, and I opened my eyes to see what would happen. He had been so angry all along, but right then his face softened. I think he was surprised and maybe a little bit glad that he hadn’t killed me. When the lightning hit me, it didn’t hurt. It was like a surge of energy. Fire burst out in every direction, burning away the clouds until only his eyes were left watching me fall. Then they faded, too.

  “I don’t remember falling into the water, or Severine getting me out. The next thing I knew was being on shore with my papa.”

  “Do you think Huracan is gone for good?” Bouki asked.

  Corinne looked around at all the new faces in town. Some from nearby
islands, others from deep in the mahogany forest. “I don’t think so.”

  Corinne looked past the cracked stone at the marketplace entryway to a bare spot in the middle of the square. The lone tree where the white witch once sold her wares had fallen in the storms. A family had taken its wood to repair their house.

  People were bustling about, buying and selling. A tall, dark woman with impossibly long eyelashes and an enchanting smile walked with a bit of a hitch across the market. Severine. She carried a large calabash gourd in the crook of her left arm and stopped occasionally to show people what was inside.

  “How much do you think she remembers?” Bouki asked Corinne.

  “Not much right now,” Corinne said. “But she remembers that we are family.”

  “What is going to happen when she remembers everything?” he asked as Severine pulled out a long necklace for a customer and pocketed a few coins.

  “Then she will be able to tell me about my mother.”

  Severine spotted them and waved. “Morning,” she said brightly.

  “Hello Miss!” Marlene sang.

  “Morning, Tante Severine,” Corinne said.

  “Miss Severine,” Bouki said.

  “I have something for you, Corinne.” Severine reached into the gourd and pulled out a necklace of silk cloth into which three stones had been sewn. “I know you lost your own, so I tried to find something that might make up for it.” She pointed to the first stone. “I found this one in the sea,” she said, indicating one that gleamed like rain on a spider’s web. “And this one, I found in the heart of the mountain.” She showed one that was black on the outside with a hint of purple at a cracked edge. “And this one fell right out of the sky.” It was rough and white and cool to the touch.

  Severine tied the necklace on Corinne’s neck. It fell beneath her collarbone, just over her heart. Each stone pressed against her skin like the light touch of a hand.

  “Thank you,” she said.

  “I know it is not the same,” Severine said.

  Corinne squeezed her aunt’s bony fingers. “It’s good,” she said.