House of Rougeaux(19)

He went to lie down in the hut and Abeje brought his supper in to him. She placed it beside the sleeping mat. “I am happy, Beje,” he said, closing his eyes.

In the night Abeje dreamt she and her brother were once again little children, sitting on their mother’s lap, chattering and singing and laughing together. Their little hands were soft, and Iya planted kisses on them. As young and small as her brother was, he was still big and strong to Abeje, her wise and clever protector. Funny that his hair was black. For some reason she thought she remembered it being white.

“Don’t ever go away from me, Adu!” she cried, in her little girl’s voice.

“I won’t, Beje!” laughed he.

Iya held them and held them, and the stars sparkled above.

When Abeje woke in the morning, she saw her brother had not moved at all in the night. The letter lay on his chest, with his hand over it. His supper was untouched. And his body was cold.

That night they laid him in the ground beside Iya and Olivie. Groom came down to help dig the grave and also brought the hide of a goat. Abeje preserved a scrap of the letter where the address in Québec City was written, and the rest she left with her brother. The letter lay on his chest with his hand over it, as it had all night. They laid the goat hide over him and with it prayers that his animals would always keep him joyful company. Abeje broke their cooking pot and all placed shards on the grave.

The people brought her shawls and food and tea, and she kept vigil on the grave for a long time. She saw the Waking Star rise and set. The dream of them with Iya seemed to continue on. She watered the fresh earth with her tears. She had never known life without her Adu, but in truth she would never have to know. As long as she looked in her heart, her brother would always be there.

One or two months later Abeje awoke one morning with a feeling of great anticipation. She had no reason for this feeling, yet it flowed in all her movements. When she poured water for cooking she was suddenly reminded of the limestone cave in the Grove, and a place within where water formed a pool from a spring. After rains the spring gushed up with a force that made little flowing hillocks of water above the surface of the pool. Abeje could go now to the Grove most any time she needed to collect plants, as she had leave from the Monsieurs to do so. After all, she helped to protect their property.

So she went to the Grove, while it was still early, and set out toward the cave. As she approached she stumbled slightly and then felt her foot turn on some root or stone. She reached out, caught the smooth trunk of a small tree and fell toward it. She hugged herself to it. She breathed against it, feeling the life inside the tree.

Something inside her fell away.

She understood that the life of the tree was no different from her own. Opening her eyes she saw some ants treading over the bark.

These too were no different from herself. If they were not different, then what was she?

She was but salt in the water of the world. All of her elements were dissolved and were no longer separate from that which was not she.

She and not she were one thing.

Abeje felt no pain, but thought that surely this was death. That the moment had come. She thought of her brother, tall and strong like an old tree. He was also she, and she was he.

Abeje, the old woman, sat beside the tree, having sunk to the ground, for one moment or for all of eternity, she didn’t know. The sun traveled a long way across the sky, shining through the leaves of the tall trees, changing shadows all the while. Her body became thirsty, and thirst moved her, as it once had moved her and her brother from the grave of their mother. She made her way to the cave and drank from a stream that ran down from the spring. Abeje seemed not to be dying or dead, but very much alive indeed. In fact she would always be, had never been born and would never die. A great peace overtook her. She became the very heart of peace.



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After this did life go on as before? It was the same and also changed. Everywhere she went she met herself. Everywhere she found peace. It lay behind all things, even sorrow and pain and fear. When she was not at work aiding sick and injured she looked after the little children, those who were weaned and not old enough for work. They followed Mémé Abeje around like little chicks. She taught them Iya’s songs, as she had with the children at Mont Belcourt. And she told them stories, which were their great delight.

By and by, Groom’s wife helped Abeje to write a letter to Ayo, another great miracle, so that words could journey back across the Sea and reach the child, now a grown woman, in the country of Canada.

Dear Claudine,

The Holy One carried your letter to us. Now may this paper be carried and placed into your own hands. We had such joy to hear about you...





Abeje told Ayo of her father’s last years, such as she could recall. She told her how he chased off the snake that fell upon her when they were little babes. She told her how he spoke to his wife so gently, and how wild songbirds landed on his fingers. Lastly:

I am sorry to tell you now that your father died the same night after we received your letter. But he went on very happy, and he is with your mother, Olivie, now. Bless you Ayo. Bless your freedom and new family, as both will surely come to you.

Love from Tata





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Great changes would occur on their Island in the next years. In the year 1848 slavery was abolished at last. The people paraded in the streets of all the towns, singing, dancing, cheering, weeping, embracing....