Oppressed (8 page)

“
Stop, please,” I pleaded. I had
heard the same speech countless times but it never made it easier.
Each scream and each wail was painfully excruciating and made me
feel as if I had committed some gruesome and unforgivable
crime.

“
Can’t you see the disgrace
you’re bringing upon me? On yourself?”

Tears of frustration and despair started
to slide down my cheeks. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry,” I whispered,
desperate to end the fight before it started.

“
This city loves to gossip! This
city loves to see others fall! Life is cheap and one wrong move is
the end for you, do you hear? You do understand how privileged you
are? Do you understand how fragile life is for us? Do you have any
idea how many people are suffering? Do you want to be like
them?”

“
I know. I know. I’m so sorry.
I’m so sorry.” I was barely audible through my tears. “Please
forgive me. I won’t do it again, I swear.”

She took several deep breaths and examined
my tear-streaked face. Her expression suddenly softened and pity
flooded her large brown eyes. She pulled me close and held me as if
I were made out of precious jewels. “I’m only trying to protect
you,” she said dismally. “I’m only trying to protect from ruin,
gossip, and a life of difficulty.” Tears started to slide down her
cheeks and mine immediately stopped.

“
Maman, don’t cry, please don’t
cry.” I hated seeing her cry. She cried a lot. She cried every time
Papa left us to go back to his real family. She cried when we went
to the opera or she spilled red wine on one of her fine dresses.
She cried every time she looked at our slave Emilie and was certain
that she had the laziest slave in New Orleans. She cried when she
thought she was getting old. She cried when she thought I would
never stop acting like an unrespectable heathen. She cried when
Tante Celeste insisted that I learn Voodoo and appreciate the many
sacrifices that our ancestors made in Haiti. Life was one
never-ending drama at the LaNuit household. Although she pretended
to be strong, I knew that she was fragile and I was the one who had
to take care of her.

“
You want me to stop
crying?” she asked through tears.

“
Yes, please,” I
begged.

“
Then say yes. Say yes
tomorrow.”

“
I won’t disappoint you. I
promise. Tomorrow I’ll say yes. I’ll say yes and then you won’t
have to worry about my future or my reputation.”

She stopped heaving and her mouth
stretched out into a thin smile. Under the low glow of the living
room candles she was excruciatingly beautiful and tragic. Her
tear-filled eyes were wide and childlike, and her caramel-colored
skin was radiant and unblemished. Like every night, her small frame
was fitted with a fine silk dress with a low décolleté and her ears
were adorned with tiny diamond studs.

She always dressed up in case
Papa decided to drop by and surprise her with some sweet French
wines, Spanish chocolates, new pearls or some other shiny trinket.
I felt a profound sadness emanating from her and wished that I
could somehow make her pain evaporate. Did she know how
exquisite she truly
was? Would it have made a difference? Her voice was wistful when
she spoke. “He loves me, Cecile; your Papa loves me and he loves
you too. It is what it is. We do the best we can,
non
?”

“
I know he loves you,” I said,
as convincingly as I could. “Of course he loves you.” Lies. I was a
liar. The honest truth was I had no idea what love really
was.

“
Madame, supper is ready,”
Emilie interrupted us.

“
Emilie! How many times have I
told you not to interrupt me?” Maman’s eyes filled with blind hate
as they rested on her.

“
But…” Emilie
protested.

Maman flew into a fit of fury. “Not buts!
Don’t interrupt me, ever!”

I held my breath unable to make eye
contact with Emilie. I felt shame, rage and guilt as I thought
about how childish I was being. I could have ended up like her and
had the unfortunate fate of being a slave for a Maman rather than a
free woman of color. Emilie was only a few years older than me, but
had been serving us for as long as I could remember.

I often wondered how Emilie felt serving
us day and night, but I never bothered to ask because I wasn’t
allowed to openly associate with her as it was forbidden by Maman;
as well as the law, because after all she was a lowly slave and I
was one class up on her. I knew it wasn’t right. It was socially
accepted and perfectly normal in most people’s eyes, but something
deep within me always whispered that somehow it was all
wrong…

Recently, this nagging feeling
was becoming stronger and stronger, yet I never did anything or
said anything. What was I supposed to do? None of it felt natural
or normal, yet in countless other households in New Orleans
gens de couleurs
libres,
along with white families, bought, sold and traded life as
if it were nothing at all… I often wondered, if life was so
worthless what was important? What was valuable? As soon as these
thoughts started to enter my head I stopped them and reminded
myself that I shouldn’t think about it. As Maman always said, “It
is what it is.”

I snuck a sideways glance at Emilie. Her
full lips trembled and her almond-shaped blue eyes fought back
tears.

Emilie lowered her head and without a
word made her way back into the kitchen where she proceeded to bang
together pots and pans in protest.

“
Emilie! I swear, don’t make me
use the whip on you. I’ve been way too lenient with you!” Maman
screamed.

“
Maman please,” I
whispered. “Not tonight…”

She sighed loudly as if she were suddenly
very tired. Dramatically, she brought her hand to her forehead as
if she were fighting off a very strong headache. She examined me
closely for a few seconds; her harsh frown vanished and was
replaced by a soft smile. She reached out and grabbed a lock of my
raven colored hair and lovingly twirled it around her thin finger.
“You’re so beautiful, Cecile. You’ll never have to worry about
poverty or oppression. You’ll always be taken care of. Your
children will always be taken care of. Only the best for you. Now,
go on and take a bath before supper. I can smell the absinthe and
debauchery seeping from your pores. I hope you enjoyed your little
escape, as it was your last.”

I smiled. At that moment I felt close
to her, close enough to want to share the details of my day. For
whatever reason I wanted her to care about how I felt. I wanted her
to see the world through my eyes. “The spirits were so happy today.
You should have been there. It was magical… All those people
together. Dancing.”

She shook her head.
“
Eh
bien
, the
spirits aren’t going to pay your bills, Cecile, or feed your
children. You need to stop with these silly childish notions. Trust
me, fine gentleman don’t want a heathen, they want a well-mannered
lady. The only purpose the loa have in our lives is to make sure we
land and keep a suitable protector,
non
? We need to protect our dignity and preserve what
little freedom we have.”

“
But Tante
Celeste…”

“
Tante Celeste needs to stop
filling your head with that nonsense. You need to think logically
like an adult. This is reality,” she said, indicating our lavish
living room with its velvet curtains, heavy mahogany furniture, and
Parisian candlesticks. “You’re not a child. I gave birth to you
when I was sixteen, and look at you acting as if you’re still
a
bebe
at your age. You’re not getting any younger.”

Determined not to start another argument,
I forced a smile. I left her standing in her expensive living room
with her tear-streaked face and thought, if this was all so real
then why did it feel so fake?

Chapter Nine

It Doesn’t Feel
R
ight…

The LaNuit Household,
Rue de
Rampart

New Orleans, October
1852

After supper, I lay in bed and listened to
the sound of a violin as it played in the distance. Its haunting,
bittersweet melody swam in the chilly night air and mingled with
the scent of sultry jasmine, roses, and oncoming rain. I loved the
smell of rain and the way it seemed to wash the entire world clean
and covered the vile smell of death that permanently lingered over
the city.

I could hear Emilie thumping
around the kitchen while Maman played the piano. Tante Celeste’s
sweet voice from a few houses down sang
La Sonnambula
in French. These smells and
sounds were the ones that gave me comfort, and I wondered if my new
home would be the same. How much say would I have in
that?

I closed my eyes, but sleep
wouldn’t come, so I started to pace around my room as I always did
on restless nights. Light wind prompted the curtains to dance in
the cool night air, soft moonlight caressed my skin, and a
beautiful white dove flew through my open window and landed on my
shoulder. I knew had company. I wrapped my satin and lace robe
around me tightly and lit a pink candle that rested on the small
altar I kept for Erzulie in my bedroom. Maman allowed me to keep an
altar dedicated to her only because she was the spirit of love and
beauty. She figured that that the more sacrifices I made to
Erzulie, the better my chances of landing a very wealthy
protector
.

“
Hello,” I whispered. “I know
you’re there. I need help. Please.” I got down on my knees and
kneeled before the tiny altar where I always kept offerings of
fresh jasmine, orange blossoms, rosewater, French perfume, thin
silver necklaces, and a tiny silver dagger. “I know you’re there
because Bobo is here,” I said, as I held the delicate white dove in
my hands. “I need your help, please. I’m scared… Please, I have
fresh jasmine for you and I can even offer some of my blood if you
like. Look here.” I grabbed the dagger and slashed my palm and
whispered.

Erzulie, strong and fierce!
Make magic for me. I offer you these

Things to eat and drink,
these beautiful objects for you.

Erzulie, strong and fierce!
Make magic for me. I offer you these

Things to eat and drink,
these beautiful objects for you.

I heard a delicate laugh. “That’s
enough. I’ve had enough blood for tonight. What are you scared of,
my child?” Erzulie kneeled beside me. Her pink satin gown was
adorned with tiny diamonds, pearls and red rubies. Her hair hung
long and loose like a thick veil and rings of thick kohl adorned
her hazel eyes. She took Bobo out of my hands and gently placed him
on her left shoulder.

I let out a giant sigh of relief. “I’m
afraid that I’m going completely insane. I’ve been thinking and the
thoughts are becoming stronger and clearer.”

She nodded in understanding. “Go
on.”

I took a deep breath. I felt a little
silly continuing because at that second I reminded myself of a
paranoid old woman confessing her sins at St. Louis Cathedral on a
Sunday morning after having spent too much time at a risqué
drinking den the night before. “The thoughts tell me that what I
see around me isn’t right because it doesn’t feel right. The only
time anything feels right is on Sundays when I’m dancing in Congo
Square and boundaries seem to disappear. Every other day it seems
as if everyone around me is living in a dream within a dream, where
life has no value. Life can’t be worth so little, can it? Yet I
dare not speak these words.”

I glanced over at Erzulie, whose tears
streamed down her face and onto her luxurious gown. “There’s
nothing wrong with you, my child. It’s the world. The world has
forgotten how to love, and what you see and what you feel is a
direct consequence of this lack of love.”

“
What can I do? I feel if I
don’t do something I’m going to explode. There’s this feeling
inside of me that’s becoming stronger and stronger.” I tried to
find the words that would perfectly express how I felt but couldn’t
seem to do so. I felt frustrated, angry and trapped, as if my life
wasn’t really my own. “I don’t want a protector. I don’t want to be
kept. I don’t want Emilie serving me... I want her to be happy.
I’ve never seen her smile, not once. I want Maman to stop crying
all the time.”

“
Then resist,” she said
simply. “Take the first step and resist against what you believe is
wrong. Don’t go tomorrow.”

I let out a bitter laugh. “What choice
do I have? I don’t have a choice, really.”

She held me tight. “You always have a
choice. Remember that.”

I fought back tears. “That’s easy for a
powerful spirit to say, but impossibly difficult for a mortal to
do.”

“
You have the spirits within
you, my child. Everyone has the spirits within them, but most
people refuse to acknowledge us. As long as you love and respect us
we will love and respect you, and you’ll never run out of
strength.”

With those words, Erzulie disappeared
and I was once again alone with my neurotic thoughts. Did I really
have a choice? I didn’t feel as if I had one.