Oppressed (11 page)

I fought back tears of utter
confusion, opened my eyes and smiled at him sweetly. When I spoke I
said exactly was expected of me, “You’re too kind,
Edmond.”

The rest of the night flew by in a
grotesque blur that consisted of Edmond and Maman passionately
arguing over the specifics of the contract. I stood there and
watched in silence while the details of my life and future were
carefully drawn out without any concern as to what I thought or
felt.

“
Two thousand?” Maman scoffed as
she looked at Edmond in fury. “Look at her! Look at those eyes,
that skin and that figure! She’s in perfect condition, plus she’s
attended one of the best schools and can play the harp
beautifully.” She raised an eyebrow. “She’s worth at least three
thousand dollars and that’s how much you’ll deposit into her
account. That’s how much she’s worth and not a penny
less.”

Edmond’s eyes lingered on me as if he
were debating whether or not I was actually worth the extra
thousand and I felt silent rage and unexpected humiliation wash
over me. “Three thousand it is,” he said after careful
deliberation.

“
Of course you’ll have to make
arrangements for her home on or near Rue de Rampart and it will be
equipped with a slave or two, a cook and an errand boy. I insist
that any children that come out of the arrangement are officially
recognized as yours and are educated in France. I also insist on
another deposit in case the match ends unexpectedly because I won’t
have Cecile left with nothing. You’ll also pay for her day-to-day
expenses and fully embrace her into your social circles when
possible. As well I won’t have the Madame harassing Cecile out of
petty jealousy if she were to find out about your arrangement. We
are all adults,
non
?
These are acceptable terms, are they not, Monsieur Edmond?” Maman’s
mouth was a hard line of determination as she tried to negotiate
the best possible deal for me.

Edmond smiled at me and looked back at
Maman. “Those are completely acceptable terms. I assume there are
no other gentlemen in her life? That’s one thing I cannot tolerate
as long as she’s under my protection.”

Maman shook her head and gave me a
knowing glance before turning her attention back to Edmond. “There
is no one.”

My heart sank. I looked at my
diamond-encrusted satin slippers and wished that it was yesterday
and Antoine and I were in Congo Square dancing like
heathens.

Chapter Eleven

Don’t Look at Me Like
T
hat…

Cecile LaNuit’s Home, Rue
de Rampart

New Orleans
, 1852

Heavy rain beat against the window pane,
while the scent of melted wax, fresh roses, aromatic French
perfume, and sweet honey from the various altars I kept on the
mahogany duchess dressing table filled the air. Flames from the
rows of pink, yellow and black candles I had lit earlier cast a
ghostly glow on my face as I peered at myself in the mirror and
clasped a delicate diamond necklace around my neck. I had spent the
better half of the day getting my hair done so that it shone and
felt like fine dark silk. I had chosen to wear a black silk gown
decorated with tiny blood rubies and a small gold cameo mostly
because the colors matched my anxious, melodramatic
mood.

I glanced around my brand new bedroom and
admired the freshly polished cherry wood armoire with its intricate
cupid carvings, the matching full-tester bed and its rich
wine-colored satin canopy, and the way the light lace curtains
bellowed in the cool evening wind. I officially had my own home and
was the envy of the neighborhood bourgeois snobs; even annoying
Isadora, who refused to believe that I had landed the protection of
Monsieur Edmond.

Yesterday Maman had held an extravagant
mid-afternoon tea, complete with scrumptious petit fours, for me.
All our friends had congratulated me and had presented gifts and
advice on how to make the match work to my advantage. I had smiled
and said thank you but inside I had felt like crying because I was
no longer able to see my best friend or go to Congo Square, simply
because I was now a kept woman.

I was nervously waiting for Edmond to
arrive. It was going to be our first night together as a couple and
I had no idea what to expect, because it would be the first time I
would be alone with him. It was unacceptable for a protector to be
alone with his placée until he had presented her with a home and
all of the contracts had been officially signed and notarized, so
for the last month I had only spoken to him under the observance of
Maman’s very strict eye. Even though he had been pleasant enough, I
still wasn’t entirely comfortable around him, but I knew I would
have to change that and fast- after all, this arrangement was a
two-way street.

As per the contract and as racial custom
dictated, he would be officially living with his real wife at their
home; however, he could come and visit me as he pleased, which
meant he could visit when he wanted and stay for how long he
wanted. I guess I was fine with those arrangements. Given that they
were the exact same ones Maman and Papa had and the same ones
countless other placées had, I couldn’t complain.

Despite my uncertainty and unspoken
anxiety I had made a firm resolution with myself that I was to make
the most out of my situation and embrace it with positivity and
hope that the match would be beneficial to both parties.

I gave myself another critical glance in
the mirror when the room went dark and a wretched weeping so
mournful and pitiful filled the air. My blood ran cold and I
quickly grabbed the jar of honey and the brass bracelets I kept on
the dresser. “Please stop. Please stop crying,” I begged. “Look, I
have honey for you and a new brass necklace as well as some brass
bracelets. I don’t want you to cry, please.”

“
So much pain! It’s
unbearable! Why? Please tell me? Why? Why must you humans do this
to yourselves?”

I rolled my eyes, relight the candles
and took a deep breath. My patience with Oshun was wearing thin.
Ever since I had moved into my home and had dedicated an altar to
her she had become a permanent and sometimes unwelcome fixture in
my bedroom.

Oshun was the spirit of
intimacy, attraction, creativity, wealth and dance. Even though she
was a very generous spirit she was also very
emotional
,
which meant she was prone to rapid mood swings that ranged from
pure joy, relentless tears and vicious temper tantrums. She tended
to cry a lot because of her deeply empathic streak and her
knowledge that humans made life and the world around them a lot
uglier than it was meant to be.

“
Look, the honey’s delicious,” I
said. I opened the jar, stuck my fingers in it and then into my
mouth. Oshun loved honey but she was a little paranoid about
accepting any offerings because supposedly one of her devotees had
once poisoned her with it. “And this jewelry! Look how it sparkles.
I bought it especially for you. There’s no reason to be sad,” I
pleaded as I held the chain up in the air.

The wails stopped and Oshun reluctantly
showed herself. She was strangely mute, beautiful, and utterly
haunting as she manifested on my bed. Candlelight made her large
black eyes and dark skin glow magnificently, but her expression was
incredibly sad and tortured as she looked at me. She wore an
extravagant dress made out of spun gold, while her long
copper-colored hair hung loose and free around her oblong face. In
her hand she held her legendary pumpkin-purse in which rested
infinite blessings that she shared with those who sought her
help.

I inched towards her cautiously, praying
that she wouldn’t break out in tears and maybe she’d consider
opening her pumpkin purse for me. “You’re so beautiful, Oshun.
There’s nothing to be sad about. Look, I have offerings for you.” I
held out the small jar of honey, along with the jewelry.

In deafening silence she extended her
hand, took the offerings, and then pulled me close to her. I knelt
down in front of her and waited for her to speak. “You don’t have
my blessing,” she said in a thin, clear voice. She grabbed me by
the wrist and dug her sharp nails into me. Spots of angry red blood
sprung from my flesh. “You’ll never have my blessing as long as you
stay here with him!”

I was taken aback by her blatant honesty,
conviction, and the fierce anger that emanated from her. “But why?”
I asked weakly.

She let out a tired, dramatic sigh, as if
the worries and problems of the entire world rested on her
shoulders. With a swift movement she clasped my cheeks between her
hands. Fire danced in her eyes as they met mine and the corner of
her lips curled. “He’s going to steal your spirit, because he
doesn’t have any!” She roughly let go of my face, pulled me up off
the ground and placed me in front of the mirror. “Look! Look! It’s
already begun!” she exclaimed. Her voice trembled and I knew she
was once again on the verge of tears.

I looked at myself in the mirror and for
the first time saw the toll the past month had taken on me. My
honey-colored skin was sallow, almost to the point where I
resembled a fever victim. My usually eager brown eyes had lost some
of their excitement and light and my already horrific posture had
gotten worse, but I couldn’t and wouldn’t openly admit that I was
uncertain about my situation.

My meetings with Edmond had been taxing,
mostly because I always felt I had to say and do the right things,
otherwise I would lose his protection and disappoint Maman. On top
of all of that I missed Antoine dearly and wished with all of my
heart things could go back to the way they used to be. But I knew
that my life was never going to be the same and I would have to
accept that fact. “No,” I said as I turned to face her. I smiled so
widely that the corners of my mouth started to hurt and I felt as
if I were one of those marionettes they sold in the French Market.
“Can’t you see I’m happy?”

She simply stared at me while tears of
pity streamed down her soft cheeks.

“
Please don’t look at me
like that,” I whispered.

She tossed her head back and laughed
and cried all at once. “Can’t you see where you belong?” She asked
through tears.

I shook my head.

“
Listen,” she said. The sound of
drums filled the air and the scent of honey became stronger. My
feet started to move and soon I found myself spinning round and
round like a little girl like I had done so many times in Congo
Square. Oshun took her hand into mine and I lost of sense of time
and reason and gave myself over to the beat of the drums
completely. Tiny beads of sweat started to trickle down my forehead
but I didn’t care. I felt alive and once again the world was full
of possibilities and hope. Oshun and I danced with reckless abandon
and I laughed and laughed as if I were insane. The pins fell out of
my hair and I shook my head from side to side like a wild,
unrefined banshee.

“
Ms.
Cecile!” shrieked Justine. “Ms.
Cecile! What are you doing?” She stood with her hands firmly
planted on her slender hips and an expression of horror plastered
on her kind, wrinkled face. Like other house slaves, she wore a
simple brown cotton dress and her hair was tied up in an
old-fashioned brown tignon.

I
t had been days, I still couldn’t bring
myself to look my slave Justine directly in the eyes. I had
protested that I wouldn’t keep a slave; Maman had insisted that all
proper ladies had one and Edmond had been forced to purchase one
for me. I wasn’t exactly sure how to run a household and Justine
knew that. However, instead of taking advantage of my naivety, she
took it upon herself to keep the rest of the house staff in check.
She yelled at the cook when he put too much cayenne pepper in the
gumbo- which was all the time, scolded the messenger boy when he
was late, and shook her head disapprovingly whenever the seamstress
unintentionally poked me with a pin. Needless to say, I would have
been lost without her; yet I was ashamed at myself for depending on
her. She didn’t have to be so nice and accommodating, but she
was.

“
Monsieur is here and you
look like a heathen!” She grabbed a cloth from the armoire and
quickly started to wipe away the thin layer of sweat that had
accumulated on my face. “Your hair!”

“
Justine, it’s alright,” I said,
as I picked up the pins from the ground and haphazardly arranged my
hair in a loose bun.

She grabbed some sweet perfume from
the dresser and sprayed me with it. “Smile! Monsieur doesn’t want
to have dinner with someone who looks so miserable!” Justine
straightened out my gown. “All the other girls envy you! Monsieur
Edmond is so handsome!”

“
I guess.” I shrugged and
reminded myself how lucky I was.

“
You guess!” She clicked
her tongue and made a disapproving sound.

I smiled. “Of course he’s
handsome.”

“
Go on, he’s waiting!” She
pushed me out my bedroom door, and even though my stomach was
twisted into an infinite number of knots I still held my
smile.