Invisible World (7 page)

W
HEN MY EYES OPENED, I WAS STARING UP AT THE LEAVES
of an oak. Aakif was beside me and, as I struggled up to lean on my elbows, he offered me a kind of yellow cake.

“Corn bread with honey,” he explained. “Here, take it.”

It was warm and wildly delicious. Aakif then handed me a carved cup filled with cool water. “She says you're a witch,” he stated calmly. “She won't let you into the cabin.”

I coughed up the water I had just sipped. “Why does she think I'm a witch?” I asked. Had she seen into my deepest secret, my desire to know what witches knew? Did she know about my grandmother and great-grandmother?

“Aunty Honey told me that you went into her mind and witnessed her most hidden memories. To protect her thoughts, she had to enter your mind and put a stop to it.”

It was true!

“I think she was trying to kill me,” I said, remembering the old woman's ferocious violence.

“No. If Aunty Honey wanted you dead, you would be dead.”

We sat there for several minutes without speaking.

“Do
you
think I am a witch?” I finally asked.

It was a relief to see a smile spread across his handsome face. “Would I give you my corn bread if I did? No. I don't think there is any bad in you — but there is power, the same power as in Aunty Honey.”

“How do you know that?”

Aakif shrugged. “I can feel it. Sometimes I just know things. I have … I don't know … I think the word for it is
instinct
. I have an instinct for people and what they are like. But Aunty Honey does not guess, she knows. She has great power but also knowledge. She has studied the roots and flowers, even minerals and animals.”

“Where does she get her supplies?” I asked.

“Some are brought in from Africa, often already ground. Like a blowfish for instance. Did you know that the venom from a blowfish can make a person appear dead, even though that person is really still alive?”

A shiver of fear ran through me. “How awful! Has Aunty Honey ever poisoned anyone?” I asked, fearful of the answer but needing to know. If so, I would have to be careful of everything Aakif offered me to eat.

Aakif sighed and contemplated the question for a moment. “Aunty Honey boasts of poisoning many folk. All her victims had bad juju, she claims, and deserved to die.”

“She thinks
I
have bad juju,” I reminded Aakif.

“I know. I did not expect that when I brought you to her.”

“What should I do?”

“Be careful of her,” he advised. “I will speak with her on your behalf.”

Leaning forward, I felt strong enough to get to my feet. “I think I should go back to the beach,” I decided. “It's probably best if I stay out of Aunty Honey's way.” I really didn't need her turning the whole village against me.

“Maybe so,” Aakif agreed, no doubt with the same idea in mind. He went back to his cabin and quickly returned with a cloth bag. “Supplies,” he explained. Swatting another mosquito, I let him lead me back the way we'd come. “Do you want to stay on the beach or in the forest?” he asked.

“The beach,” I answered without thinking about it much. I simply liked the beach better. “It's cooler and has fewer mosquitoes,” I added.

“The smoke from your fire will help keep them off,” Aakif said. “I've brought you more coal.”

Once more, we walked through the shadowy forest. I told him how I'd thought I'd seen an angel the other day, but it was a heron.

“Ah, I know of these angel spirits,” Aakif said. “How do you know them?”

“From the Bible. My father would read it to us every night.”

“Sometimes here on the plantation, white men in black robes come to read it to us. Mostly they read stories about Jesus. I like those stories. But I first heard of angels from the Muslims back in Sierra Leone. I met them while working for the palm oil company. Their stories are very much like the Bible stories, and they too have angels.”

“I've never met a Muslim, but I've read of them. I didn't know they also have angels in their religion. It just shows you people are more alike than they realize.”

“Maybe.” Aakif sounded skeptical. “It's not easy to find anything in common with the plantation owner or his family or his foremen.”

“What about me?” I asked quietly.

Aakif gazed into my eyes. “You're different from them.”

It made me extremely happy to hear those words. “I hope so. I want to be,” I said. “Tell me how I'm different.”

Aakif smiled softly as he brushed some hair from my eyes. “You are njoso, Betty-Fatu, but you are not a spirit from the forest. You are an ocean sprite.”

 

The first thing Aakif and I did when we reached the remnants of my old fire was to build a new one. After that, we set up a tent, made from a quilt that looked like it was woven but was really strips of fabric sewn together.

After that was done, we walked the shore, talking for close to an hour. His dream was to buy his freedom. The plantation owners paid their foremen a small wage. “And during the off-season sometimes I can fish and row over to the mainland after dark to sell my catch. I know a man there who takes it from me and pays right at the dock. I can be back before anyone knows I'm gone.”

“Do you think you can ever earn enough?”

“Men have done it on this plantation before,” Aakif replied, his voice filled with determination. “And if others have, I can.”

“You'll do it,” I said, feeling sure he would.

“What about you? What do you want?” he asked.

“Right now I just want to find a way home.”

“When the masters return in two months, we'll make sure they help you.”

Could I last two months? It seemed like such a long time to live out here on the beach by myself. But at least I had Aakif to help me.

“After you go home, I suppose you want to marry a rich man and have babies,” Aakif assumed.

“No,” I confessed, “that's not what I want at all. I want the independence to live as I like, to be a free woman.”

This made Aakif smile. “So we have the same dream, then.”

“In some ways,” I agreed, returning his smile.

Returning to my beach campsite, we stoked the fire and heated Aunty Honey's famous gumbo. Then Aakif handed me a glass bead strung on a reed, like the one he wore. “To keep off the bad juju,” he said.

I turned the bead over in my hand. It was a deep blue. The glass was full of air bubbles and was a little uneven, so it was obviously handblown, possibly very old. “Will I need this to protect myself from Aunty Honey?” I asked.

“I don't think so,” Aakif answered, though he sounded uncertain. “She is not a bad woman, only a powerful one.”

Aakif tied the beaded reed around my neck. “A girl who floated to safety across the wide ocean in a barrel most likely doesn't need a bead to help her. But just the same, I want you to have it.”

After our supper, we sat by the fire, watching the waves. Aakif took hold of my hand, which thrilled me at first, but soon came to feel very natural.

“Would you like to hear a song I know?” I asked him. “I sang it while I was floating in my barrel.”

“Absolutely, yes! Sing it for me.”

Fighting a moment of self-consciousness, I leaned back on my arms and sang out:
“The water is wide, I can-not cross o'er. And neither have I the wings to fly …”

When I was done, I asked him, “Did you like it?”

He was looking at me deeply. “Very much. If you were with me, I would never let you sink.”

In my mind, I heard the end of his sentence, which he was thinking to himself.
Never ever let you sink, beautiful sea sprite. I will always take care of you.

Squeezing his hand, I rested my head on his strong arm for just a moment before straightening again.

With a reluctant sigh, Aakif released my hand and rose to his feet. “I have to be back at the rice fields before dawn tomorrow, so I should go to sleep.”

“Stay a little longer,” I implored.

He sat back down beside me. “Get into the tent and sleep,” he said. “I will stay here until you are safely dreaming.”

I crawled into the tent with my head at the front opening. He sat cross-legged in front of me.

“I will be back as soon as I can tomorrow,” he promised. “There's some bread for you still in the basket for your breakfast, and fresh water.”

“Now you sing me a song,” I requested.

“All right,” he agreed. “Here's one from the sea islands, right here.” With a deep breath, he began to sing a song in a low, plaintive voice. It was a slow, soothing song:

Dropping my head, I let sleep start to carry me. “
We ain't got long for stayin'
,” sung in his strong sweet voice, was still playing in my ear as I went under.

 

During the night, I awoke bathed in my own steaming sweat. A terrible pain crossed my head. Hot saliva rose in my mouth before my stomach lurched. Pulling myself out the front of the tent just in time, I vomited in wrenching spasms.

Aunty Honey
had
poisoned me, after all. I was sure of it.

I tossed sand over my vomit and groped in the sweet grass basket for the water Aakif had left me. But before I could even lift it to my mouth, my stomach heaved again and once more I was spilling my guts onto the sand.

S
OMEONE'S HAND WAS ON MY FOREHEAD. “HER FEVER IS
still burning.” Had I heard it in my head or in my ears? I wasn't sure. Though I was half awake with my eyes still shut, I could tell it was Aakif.

“Mus tek cyear a de root fa heal de tree.”

That was unmistakably Aunty Honey.

I'd been about to open my eyes, but I caught myself in time and instead kept them shut. Aunty Honey's voice had been in my ear and very close.

A tough, gnarled hand tapped my cheek, lightly at first and then a sharp slap. It was so hard that my eyes opened. Aunty Honey grinned coldly, satisfied that she'd proven I was faking.

I was inside a one-room cabin, lying on a low, wooden platform, wrapped in a blanket. Another sleeping platform lay sideways against the wall, blankets neatly folded beside it. One narrow window let a patch of sun shine into the otherwise shadowy room.

The cabin was nearly empty, except for a wide stone stove and a wooden table with a bench. Beside the stove there was one long shelf laden with cookware and dishes. There were also a number of glass jars filled with powders and dried herbs.

I realized a cool cloth had been laid across my forehead and I lifted it off. Aakif was instantly sitting at my side, offering me water. “Drink this,” he instructed gently, holding the cup to my lips.

The water was sweet and I pulled back a bit, surprised.

“Honey water,” Aakif explained, “from Aunty Honey's bees. It will make you strong again.”

Aunty Honey stood by the bed, her expression stern and unyielding, her black, beady eyes cold, but she nodded when Aakif said the honey would strengthen me.

“What did she say about a tree?” I asked softly.

“It's a Gullah saying: You have to cure the root to heal the tree.” After I'd sipped some more, Aakif took the cup away. “You have the —”

“— yellow fever,” I croaked.

“That's right! I found you on the beach yesterday morning. You had passed out and I couldn't wake you.”

“Yesterday?”

“Yes, I carried you here and convinced Aunty Honey to take you in. I told her you have a good heart and mean no harm to anyone.”

Aunty Honey's eyes bore into me, and I didn't have the impression that she felt any kindlier to me now than she had before. Yet, looking down at myself, I saw that my dirty, ripped nightgown had been changed to a simple and rough but immaculately clean nightshirt of unbleached cotton. My hair still smelled of the ocean, but at least it had been bundled to the top of my head.

“Thank you,” I said, turning to Aunty Honey. When I got no response, I turned to Aakif for help. “Would you tell her I said —”

“She knows what you said. She can speak English but she won't.”

“Who could blame her?” I murmured, remembering all I'd seen in Aunty Honey's mind.

Aunty Honey's eyes might have darted in my direction for a flicker, but I couldn't be sure. I was suddenly very weak again.

Aunty Honey gestured toward the stove. “Fufu,” she said to Aakif.

Aakif retrieved a bowl. “See if you can keep this down,” he said, lifting a spoon of fufu to me.

It looked delicious but tasted awful. Aakif smiled when he saw my face crinkle with revulsion. “I know! I know!” He chuckled. “It's really good until Aunty puts her powders in there. I think she uses willow bark for pain relief and a plant called feverfew especially for the aching head. Ginger root helps with the rocking stomach.”

“No poison?” I whispered.

“No poison,” Aakif confirmed with a smile. “I watched her make it.”

My attempt to smile back at him failed. I was simply too weak. Aakif was able to feed me half the bowl of fufu before I held my hand up to stop him.

“That's enough,” he agreed. “We don't want you to start again.”

“Start?”

“You had the black vomit.” He tapped his stomach. “The blood from inside.”

“My insides are bleeding?” I asked, alarmed.

“Do not worry. Aunty Honey will make you better.” Aakif got up. “I have to get back to the field now. You rest.”

Panic swept through me. He was leaving me alone with Aunty Honey! I gazed at him imploringly.

Aakif sighed, and his expression told me he would have stayed if he could have, but it was impossible. Turning, he spoke to Aunty Honey in Gullah. I didn't have to understand the language to know that he was politely asking her to treat me well.

In reply, Aunty Honey upbraided Aakif, shooing him toward the door as she scolded.

“She will take good care of you,” Aakif told me, speaking over his shoulder as he went out.

When he was gone, Aunty Honey stayed by the door, her face immobile, staring at me.

Longing only to sleep, I couldn't relax with the old woman's eyes fixed on me. I didn't want her back in my head, wandering through my dreams as I slept, nor did I wish to enter her mind, not ever again. The need to sleep threatened to become overpowering, though. I had to fight it if I was going to shut Aunty Honey out.

Aunty Honey was still focused on me. Her eyes burned with a frightening intensity. There was a pressure forming in my head, and somehow I knew she was trying to get in. I had to block her somehow, so I filled my head with the song Aakif had sung to me:

The memory of Aakif's voice filled my mind. The crashing waves of that night made a musical background. It was the last thing I'd heard before the fever set in, and it made me happy to remember it. Shutting my eyes, I stopped worrying about Aunty Honey. The repetition of the lyrics and the soothing melody lulled me.

I dreamt I was back in a boat, about to go over a fall. I screamed until a stream of energy — like a powerful wind — lifted me and swept me to a new location.

Suddenly, I was in a jungle clearing. Aunty Honey was waiting for me there, but no longer dressed in her plain clothing. The impoverished slave woman was now regal, in an orange caftan adorned with African designs and an elegant head wrap of the same material and print. Each arm was adorned with a golden snake bracelet. She sat on a high-backed chair and gestured for me to sit on a bench beside her.

“Aunty Honey —” I began, but she stopped me.

“Here you will call me Mother Kadiatu.”

“Where are we?” I asked, but she acted as though I hadn't spoken. I gazed at her face; she seemed younger. I realized that she'd spoken to me in English.

“I have seen your mind while you have slept in my home,” Aunty Honey said to me. “I see that I was mistaken. You are no gafa. But inside you strong magic exists, a birthright that you must learn to use wisely.”

“Can you teach me, … Mother Kadiatu?”

“I
must
teach. Fate has brought you across the wide sea. It has swept you to my doorstep so that you can learn to be a great sorceress. These things that have happened to you are not accidents. I throw you out but you come back. I could cast you away many, many times, and still you would return — because you must. Fate has willed it to be.”

“I want to learn from you, Mother Kadiatu,” I said with mounting excitement.

“You will know all I know,” she promised.