Oppressed (6 page)

His smile vanished and he leaned in
towards me. “Do you want to be like these people?” he asked,
motioning to the crazy patrons with his lollipop.

I glanced around me. “No. These people
are clearly insane. Why would I want to be like them?”

“
Little darlin’, this is
where you’re headed if you remain imprisoned by your own
fears.”

I was tempted to roll my eyes. This
philosophy lesson was giving me a headache. “I don’t get
it.”

Papa Legba laughed deeply and took another
red lollipop from the candy bowl. “These people may appear crazy to
you, but the sad fact is this is where most people end up and this
is where most people will remain. I can’t show people what they
refuse to see. I can’t offer clarity to those who choose to remain
in the dark.”

“
Is that what happened to
these people?” I asked, as I looked at the bitter faces that
surrounded me. “They chose to stay in the dark?”

He let out a low sigh and his
eyes appeared infinitely sad as he glanced around the room. “Yes.
These people are so full of fear that they refuse to believe in the
truth. They refuse to accept the truth about themselves because
it’s painful and uncomfortable so they sit here at the crossroads.
They’re paralyzed by their fears, so they do nothing at all except
blame others for their own problems. They’re so convinced
that
their
way of thinking
is the only way that they refuse to put themselves in their
neighbor’s shoes. They’re devoid of love. After all, how can one
expect to love another when they can’t even love themselves? They
see no goodness or joy in anything, nor do they have any compassion
for others. Do you know what happens to a soul that sees no
goodness in anything?”

“
I have an idea,” I said,
as I thought back to all that Ivan had done to me.

“
They become so bitter and vile
that all they want to do is poison every little thing they come in
contact with. Hate is their Bon Dieu and negativity is their
addiction. Of course, they’re so blind they can’t even see how
horrible they really are, nor can they see the impact they have on
others. I can offer them options but I can’t force them to do
anything they don’t want to do. I cannot force positive change upon
those who don’t want it.”

He was making me uncomfortable, mostly
because I could see myself sitting in this miserable bar for
eternity talking to myself like a madwoman and blaming others for
my problems. I knew I wasn’t above any of it, nor was I better than
any of these people. I recognized myself in every single one of
them. I recognized my hatreds, my fears, my paranoias and
prejudices, and that realization was a big ol’ slap in the face.
But I didn’t want to end up here. I didn’t want to remain in the
land of the bitter and vile. “How can I free myself?” I
whispered.

“
The only way anyone can truly
free themselves is by looking within themselves, acknowledging
their fears, and facing them head-on regardless of how
uncomfortable that process may be. You’re at the crossroads,
Arelia. I wasn’t going to help you, but Marie insisted that you
were mature enough to let go of your fears and understand the
bigger picture. She convinced me that you were ready to meet
her.
She begged me to
introduce you to
her
because she is the only one who knows the truth. She knows
who is responsible for the curse and the reason behind it. That is
what you want, isn’t it? You want the truth so you can free Lucus
and Louis, no matter what the cost?”

“
I do, but…”

“
But…”

The truth was I was fearful of the
unknown. I was fearful of what I would discover, and mostly I was
scared that I was about to find out something really terrifying
about Lucus. That scene in the graveyard had shaken me to my very
core. What had it meant? “At what cost?” I finally asked after a
long pause.

He grinned and pulled out a guitar
from behind the bar. “The biggest sacrifice of all…”

I anxiously grabbed a
fistful
of
candy from the bowl and shoved it into my mouth. Something told me
I needed lots of sugar before I was ready to hear his answer.
“Which is?” I asked through a mouthful of candy.

He smiled and the corners of his kind
eyes crinkled.

Of course he wasn’t going come out and say
it, that would make it all too easy and what fun was
easy?

He closed his eyes and started to play
the guitar. In that low, gravelly voice of his he began to
sing

Everybody say she got a
mojo

now, she's been usin' that
stuff

Mmm mmm mmm, 'verybody says
she got a mojo

His eyes opened and rested on
me. “So
, are
you ready or would you like to hang around here a little longer?”
He winked and gave me a large grin.

“
You still haven’t told me
what I need to sacrifice.”

“
You have to sacrifice
your illusions, little darlin’.”

What the hell kind of sacrifice was
that? “I don’t know what that means…”

He started to play his guitar again. “Of
course you do. Only the weak and mindless are incapable of thinking
for themselves, and you are neither weak nor mindless.”

I stared at him for a few minutes and
tried to find a deeper meaning behind his ominous words, when it
hit me. “It’s going to be painful, isn’t? What she’s going to show
me is going to change everything, isn’t it?”

“
Oh yes.”

“
Do I have any other
options?”

He nodded. “Of course you do, little
darlin’. Papa Legba always gives his children choices. So these are
yours: you can run away like a scared little girl and pretend that
none of this ever happened. That’s what most people do, but then
they end up right back here sooner or later. I can erase your
memory, and you can forget all about this crazy summer. In a few
years you’ll end up marrying Tony…”

“
Tony!” I
scoffed.

He nodded. “Yes. He’ll marry you in an
attempt to defy his parents, and you’ll accept his proposal because
you won’t know any better. You’ll never truly understand your own
worth. You’ll love him regardless of how he treats you. He’ll strip
you of all of your self-esteem and repeatedly hurt you, but you’ll
still stay. You’ll stay for the comfort and security but you’ll be
bitter and angry. You’ll have a couple of babies and they’ll be
bitter and angry and the cycle of anger and bitterness will
continue.”

“
What will happen to Lucus
and Louis?” I whispered.

He shrugged. “It doesn’t
matter.”

“
It doesn’t matter?! Of course
it matters. What’s my other choice?”

“
You dance with the unknown,
regardless of how uncomfortable it will make you. Seek the truth
and face your fears.”

“
Hmmm… Have a couple of bitter
babies with Tony or face the painful unknown. You’re not giving me
much of a choice.”

“
You always have a
choice.”

I bit my nails, stared at the filthy
floor, and considered my options. Was it better to live in sweet
denial or fight for the truth? I thought about all the people who
had fought for the truth, great people like Ghandi, Lennon, JFK and
Marley. What had become of them? They had been either murdered or
had died young and rather mysteriously. Had they ever regretted
their decisions? Had they ever wished they just kept their mouths
shut and remained submissive to the wrongs they saw in the world?
Did I want to live my life with blinders on just because it was
convenient? No, not really.

“
I want to meet her,” I
said, as I stood up. “I want to meet her. I need to know what she
has to say. Introduce us. Please.”

Papa Legba laughed and continued to
play his guitar until the music became louder and louder. “Close
your eyes,” he said. “The gateway is awaitin’.”

“
Gateway? What
gateway?”

He ignored my questions and continued
to play his guitar. “Close your eyes and follow the music. She’s
been waitin’ at the gateway for an awfully long time. Follow the
music.”

I closed my eyes and did as he said.
The music swirled around me and intertwined its hands with mine. It
was ferocious, bittersweet and absolutely seductive. I gave myself
over to it completely and felt myself drift further and further
away…

Chapter Seven

Heathens,
Gens de Couleur Libres,
and Cecile
LaNuit

Congo Square

New Orleans
, 1852

When my eyes opened I was no
longer myself, but someone named Cecile LaNuit. I knew it was 1852,
I was seventeen years old, a
gen de couleur libre
(free person of color) and I lived in
the most glorious, romantic and magical city in the entire world.
An elegantly crafted green dress made out of the finest taffeta and
lace caressed my smooth honey-colored skin, lace gloves rested on
my rather tiny hands, and a heavy black cape provided warmth
against the cool autumn wind.

The air was thick and smoky with the scent
of manure, pralines, rotten vegetables, burnt tar, and sweet
rebellion. I tossed my head back, let out a carefree laugh and
began to move my feet. My hair unraveled from the bun I had
arranged it in and cascaded down to my waist in thick loose black
waves. Around me, drums of all shapes and sizes filled the air with
their savage, hypnotic rhythm and mingled with the melody of
banjos, jawbones, violins and triangles.

It was Sunday, which was my
favorite day. It was the only day out of the week in which people
of all races, ages and classes forgot their differences and let
the
les
mysteries
seduce them into ever-elusive unity. Slaves,
gens de couleur
libres,
and
white people came together in Congo Square to either watch or
participate in the slave dances- which were actually cleverly
disguised mass Voodoo ceremonies- and simply let the infectious
energy seep into their bones.

Unlike the rest of the country,
which was segregated rigidly into black or white, Louisiana was the
only state that allowed these colors to blend together, thus
producing a culture which to the rest of the States seemed like an
abomination. However, in my eyes it was simply
magnifique
!

Around me
half-
naked
slaves adorned with ribbons, bells, and shells formed large circles
and moved their hips to the music while curious spectators clapped
and cheered them on. Most urban slaves were allowed Sundays off and
they took full advantage of this privilege by celebrating their
glorious culture with the city.

I felt the omnipresent loa all around me
encouraging me to dance, clap, and forget my problems, so I did. I
clapped and screamed while swinging my minuscule hips from side to
side. The loa and I had a somewhat special relationship. I loved,
respected, and feared them, and in return they opened their strange
and magical world to me. I saw them everywhere. On street corners,
in the marketplace, in church, in the bathroom. They saw and heard
everything.

“
Heathens, savages; this is a
complete abomination to civilization,” Antoine scoffed. “They need
to have some pride and self-respect. How is anyone to take them
seriously if they go on behaving like this?”

I rolled my eyes. “Antoine
Dupart, you,
mon ami
, are a bourgeois snob!” I accused, as I grabbed his hand
and tried to get him into the spirit.

I glanced over at him and felt
a sudden sur
ge of affection. He was my best friend, companion, and the
brother I never had. I had been friends with him and his twin
sister, Aimee, since the age of five. Last year, Aimee had gotten
married and had moved to Paris with her husband leaving, Antoine
and I to ourselves. Of course, Maman didn’t know Antoine and I
still saw one another, because the cold, hard truth was I was no
longer a child and hadn’t been for quite some time.

I knew what my fate was and I had resisted
it since the day I had officially turned into a woman. Being seen
in the company of any man was a threat to my so-called honor. My
secret escapes to Congo Square on Sundays were the only time I was
able to get away from the constant expectations and tensions that
filled my life. Antoine, being the gentleman he was, always
insisted on accompanying me in case anyone “threatened my
honor.”

Antoine shook his hand free and
crossed his arms. His full lips held a disapproving frown, his dark
green eyes narrowed, and the nostrils of his thin nose flared as
they always tended to do when he was annoyed. He was so proud, so
handsome, and infinitely snobby. He smoothed out his already
immaculate waistcoat and straightened his silk tie. “Tell me,
Cecile, how are
gens de couleur libres
ever going to get the respect they deserve
if they continue to associate themselves with the lower class?
These heathens?”