House of Rougeaux(6)

“Banan tried to charge Groom today,” Adunbi said one night, as he and Abeje tended their supper over the fire.

“The white yearling bull?” asked Abeje. Adunbi had told her how lately the bull, who had been gentle enough as a calf, had been growing wilder.

That morning Adunbi had taken the bull from the barn to a pen outside, to be fed away from the heifers. Banan went along without trouble and Adunbi left him in the pen to fetch the hay. When he returned Groom was in the pen, tying off the gate on the other side.

“I saw,” Adunbi said, “he took it in his mind to charge.” Adunbi had shouted a warning to Groom, who just managed to scramble over the fence before the bull smashed into the post closest to him, cracking it nearly in two. Groom was sufficiently rattled, and when he got his breath he reckoned that Adunbi had saved his life, and that somehow he’d known ahead of time what the bull meant to do.

“All day Groom watching me,” Adunbi said.

“But not from fright,” Abeje said.

“Not at all.”

From that day forward Groom changed much toward Adunbi. He gave orders without threatening him. He asked Adunbi what he thought of this or that, regarding the animals, and when he heard the boy’s answers, he nodded and said, “That be so.”



* * *



Not long after her fourteen years, Abeje was set to work the cane fields. One day during the harvest, Abeje toiled with a gang bundling cut canes. The overseer rode around on his horse that morning, wielding his lash and amusing himself by cursing at the people. His voice rang out, in the distance, or close by where Abeje labored, and the sun climbed high in the sky.

On one of his passes by Abeje she felt his eyes on her, and then a chill of fear as his gaze swept over her limbs. She kept her eyes down on her work, but every time he passed her hands shook.

After midday, he made more rounds of the two work gangs, then suddenly dismounted near Abeje’s group. His boots struck the ground and he strode straight toward Abeje, at once catching her wrist. The shock of his grip, of seeing his face up close, made her knees buckle. The flat field seemed to wrench itself over and she pitched to one side.

“Ye had better mind!” he barked, and dragged her, stumbling, behind a stand of cane and threw her down. She had no time even to cry out. He was upon her, heavy as a fallen tree, but savage, pinning her to the ground. One hard forearm cut the breath from her throat, while his other hand ripped at her clothing. Just as she thought her head would shatter he released her neck. Then he forced himself between her legs.

At first Abeje thought she was stabbed with a knife, killed, like Iya.

But in the next moment he pushed off of her, stood and staggered back, pushing his sweaty hair from his face. He fumbled to fix up his belt and felt for his pistol. “Get up.”

Abeje curled around the pain; it seemed someone was striking her head with a hammer. The fetid smell of his sweat permeated the air, even when he went to mount his horse and resume his rounds.

Once his back was turned, one of the women, Vere, went to Abeje and helped her to stand. “Poor, poor babe,” she whispered, brushing at Abeje’s clothing and retying her headcloth. “Holy One deal with him.” Abeje leaned on her as the field rocked back and forth. “Let’s get to work now,” Vere said.

Abeje was weak and clumsy. She dropped the canes and her fingers would not tie off the twine. Vere and the others hid her poor efforts from Overseer. At dusk Adunbi came looking for her. Earlier in the day he had suddenly been seized with dread for his sister, but could not get away, as that day he was sent to work in the sugar works. He feared for her life. When he saw her hunched form, and Vere helping her along, he hurried to support her. She hid her face and leaned against him, unable to prevent her sobs.

“Overseer,” Vere said in a low voice.

Abeje felt him tremble. She clung to Adunbi as tightly as she could; she was so weak.

“Holy One deal with him,” she begged.

That night a fire smoldered and sparked, spreading between her legs and up into her belly. The heat washed up and soon a fever overtook her. Adunbi stayed at her side by the cooking fire, and tried to make her eat, to drink, to lie down. When morning came he took her to the Sick House where she lay for two days, burning with fever. She did not see Adunbi there with her each night. She did not see how he sat with his head in his hands, digging his nails into his scalp so that they came away bloody. Nor did she see the others who also lay sick, or dying, but she did see other things.

She saw Adunbi in a field, raising a machete.

She saw the Sea.

She rose up and saw her feverish body below her.

She rose up over the roof of the Sick House and moved forth over the fields toward a dark sky. The shapes of shrubs and trees crouched in darkness, and the whistling wind became a song. She walked again beneath the great Anaya drawn with stars. The touch of Anaya’s leaves grazed her cheek.

Beneath her lay a white path, long and narrow. It was a bridge, the limitless night sky on either side. In her open hand she found a clump of brown fibres. Also a yellow root and a dark green pulp of tiny, bitter leaves. The fibres drew her eyes down, and her hands to a place at her hip where the flesh was torn. The brown fibres knit the ragged edges together. Juice from the yellow root guided the fibres of the first plant and brought out new growth in the flesh. The tiny, bitter leaves removed clots of blood and carried away poisons.