Oppressed (7 page)

I shook my head and stopped dancing.
“Lower class? Are we not all one and the same? The loa don’t create
meaningless boundaries, nor do they discriminate based on class.
Who are we to do so?”

He looked at me
incredulously
. “Loa! Loa! Where were the
loa
when my grand-pere fought for his freedom during
the Haitian Revolution? They were nowhere to be found! He came
to…”

“
Yes, I know; he came to New
Orleans, taught himself how to read and write, learned the fine
craft of dress-making so he could send your papa to the finest
schools. Your papa worked hard so you could pursue your dream of
studying law.” I stood on my toes and pinched his cheek
affectionately. “Antoine,
mon amour,
I would hire you as my lawyer any day.”

“
Very funny
, Cecile. This is not a joke.
We have to maintain our dignity and respect. We have to protect our
rights! They can be taken away from us at any moment. Only in
Louisiana can a free person of color own property! Imagine! In this
day and age, only in one state! These heathens need to stop dancing
and fight for their freedom!”

“
Can’t you see they are fighting
the only way they know how- and it’s working. Look around you,
Antoine! Just look! Rich people, poor people, white, black, yellow,
red, purple, green, blue: they’re all together right now at this
very moment! At this moment we are all free! The spirits are
helping us see what is truly important! Unity and real freedom that
breaks rigid man-made boundaries! The spirits want us to be truly
free!” I spun round and around and at that moment I was the
happiest I’d ever been. Being a reckless heathen was absolutely
intoxicating.

“
No. This is a
spectacle.”

I felt weary listening to him spout his
views on heathens and rights, mostly because we had the same
conversation once a week. “Can we please forget about everything
and just dance? You know what tomorrow is. The last thing I need
right now is a man telling me about…” I let out a low
sigh.

His eyes softened, and he studied me
intently as if he were searching for something comforting to say.
“You don’t have to go,” he said rather unconvincingly.

I looked up at the fading sun and took a
deep breath, determined not to shed a tear. “If only it were that
easy. I’m destined to follow Maman’s footsteps; she’s made that
abundantly clear.”

I felt his fingers intertwine
with mine. “Look, my feet are moving. My hips are starting to swing
from side to side. I feel the
loa
all around me. I am officially a
heathen.”

I couldn’t help but laugh as I watched my
dear snobby Antoine attempt to dance like a so-called heathen. His
thin, elegant frame moved clumsily and his arms hung limply by his
sides. My feet started to move again and tomorrow suddenly floated
far far away. I heard the loa cheering me on, which prompted me to
dance faster and faster. I linked my arm with Antoine’s, and
together we danced only the way carefree children could.

“
You’re going to do great
things, Cecile. You’re destined to be the official Queen!” hissed
Bade.

I laughed. “
Je t'aime
, Bade, but you are sadly
mistaken!” I yelled. He was always telling me I was destined to be
the official Queen but I didn’t see how that was possible. There
were a thousand Voodoo Queens and Kings in New Orleans; I didn’t
see how I was any different from the rest of them.

“
Dance, Cecile! Dance because
you are free!” he hissed, so I did. Who was I to argue with the
loa?

“
Bonjour!”
I waved at Ayizan, the loa of
the French marketplace.

She waved at me with
her palm leaf.
“
Bonjour!”

We danced until the sun faded and the sky
tuned a brilliant shade of red. The low sycamore trees grew dark
and the moment I heard gunfire and smelled gunpowder I knew that
the fun was over. Maybe for good this time…

Antoine placed his arms around me and
together we walked down the cobbled streets, navigating our way
through loitering stray animals, fat rats, carriages, and countless
street vendors. I relished every single walk I took through the
muddy city. I adored the dusty shops where people of all hues
offered haircuts, coffee, liquor, clothes, and countless other
goods.

“
Look, what is that?!” I started
the game Antoine and I had played since childhood. The one in which
we pretended we were Yankee tourists visiting New Orleans for the
first time.

He gasped. “I do believe it’s those
Choctaw Indians everyone is talking about. How are they allowed to
sit on the streets and sell their wares so freely? Lawlessness. And
on a Sunday!”

“
And that?” I dramatically
pointed to an outdoor café where two men were drinking absinthe and
engaging in a game of chess.

He placed his over his chest
and feigned outright shock. “Could it be? No! Why it’s a finely
dressed
gen
de couleur libre
playing chess with a finely dressed white man!
Atrociousness! What is this world coming to?”

I chuckled and we continued our game, but
the closer we got to my home the more I started to panic. Anxiety
cameover me as I thought about tomorrow. Although I had done what I
was about to do many times, I knew that tomorrow would be the day.
I was seventeen and out of excuses. “I don’t want to go home. I
don’t want to go home yet,” I said suddenly, as I tried to gasp for
air...

“
Cecile.” Antoine held me
tightly and I buried my head into his chest in a vain attempt to
shelter myself from my destiny. “It will be okay. You can always
say no. No one can force you to do something you don’t feel
comfortable doing. You have your rights too. ”

I laughed sarcastically and
bitterly. “I’ve been saying no since last year. Clearly my
“
non
Monsieur, I cannot
accept your proposal” is no longer going to work. Maman has already
purchased dozens of new Parisian ball gowns, shoes and jewels with
the extra money Monsieur Leblanc gave us. There are thousands of
women in this city of all ages and hues that have it far worse than
I do, so I shouldn’t complain, should I? At least I’ll be taken
care of. I know my fate is sealed, Antoine, and our friendship as
we know it is over.”

“
No… Don’t say that… Cecile, we
can. I mean if you …”

“
Absinthe. I need
a
bsinthe,” I
rambled, cutting him off. “Take me somewhere dirty, miserable and
devoid of any happiness.”

Antoine’s chest heaved with laughter. “Oh,
my dear Cecile, your dramatics never cease to amuse me. What will
the fine people of New Orleans do when they hear that Monsieur
Leblanc’s daughter was seen in a dirty, miserable place devoid of
happiness?”

“
They’ll thank me for
giving them something to gossip about,” I said
playfully.

In reality, I felt resentment and unspoken
rage build up inside of me at the thought of Papa, but as always I
held it in because I honestly had no right to complain. Who was I
to complain that I was the child of one of the wealthiest French
merchants in Louisiana and his colored mistress? After all, it was
he was who kept Maman in the latest Parisian fashions, he was the
one who had paid for my schooling, and it was his money that kept a
roof over our heads. We lived in luxury and had the finest things
money could buy, but for some reason I couldn’t help feeling that
my entire life was a mess…

I wondered if Papa’s real wife
knew about Maman. If she did
, what did she think about her husband keeping a
colored mistress? Did she know about me? Who did Papa really love;
his wife or his mistress? Would my protector be old? Would he get
married? Would he already be married? Would his wife resent me?
Would I love him? I needed absinthe.

Antoine lead me to a dimly-lit, smoky bar
where darkness and shadows obscured faces and Irish, French,
English, Spanish, and German accents filled the air. He ordered two
glasses of absinthe from the burly bartender and we drank in
silence. I let the smooth liquid burn me from the inside out and
fought the overwhelming misery that was beginning to take hold of
me.

“
Cecile.” Antoine cleared his
throat and focused his deep green eyes on me. His expression was
tight and nervous, which was odd for him.

“
Yes?” I asked, as I took his
half-full glass out of his hand and chugged down the green
liquid.

“
I love you,” he said
simply and somewhat shyly.

I smiled widely because the
a
bsinthe had
just taken effect. “I love you too! And I love Aimee and I love
that man over there and I love this absinthe. We need another! But
we have to hurry because I have to go home before Maman realizes
I’ve snuck off again and uses the whip on poor Emilie out of anger.
She’s been very anxious these days as social season is about to
start and the bidding is about to begin. Last night my newest
corset refused to lace up and she accused me of eating too many
sweets. You should have seen the disapproval in her eyes, Antoine.
I swear she was ready to use the whip on
me
!”

Antoine sighed deeply, shook his head and
turned his back on me to go get us one last drink. My snobby
Antoine, I’m going to miss you dearly.

Chapter Eight

It Is What It
I
s…

The LaNuit Household,
Rue de
Rampart

New Orleans, 1852

“
Thank you
,
mon ami
, for the company, the absinthe, and for
reminding me of how much of a heathen I am.”

I gave Antoine a tight hug and
tried to fight the sinking feeling that was growing in the pit of
my stomach. I glanced uneasily at my home
, with its French windows and sturdy
wooden railings. Surrounded by blooms of white magnolias, banana
trees, tangles of ivory vines that glistened under the moonlight,
and clumps of tiny pink rose bushes, it seemed deceptively
peaceful.

The streetlamp cast an eerie glow on
Antoine’s face and I could feel that he was wrestling with some
monumental decision. He took my gloved hand into his. “Don’t go
tomorrow, Cecile. It’s not right. You shouldn’t have to follow in
your Maman’s footsteps.”

I squeezed his hand. “It is what it is.
You sound as if I’m going to sell my very soul; clearly that is not
the case. There are thousands of men and women of all colors who
marry for convenience, and this arrangement is no
different.”

Although I joked about
it
, the very
thought made my skin crawl... I wasn’t supposed to think like that.
I couldn’t think like that. I was lucky. There were thousands of
other women who would have died to be in my place. It was perfectly
normal.

“
It’s not the same thing,” he
said adamantly.

I let out a low sigh and tried
to find the words that would somehow accurately express how I felt.
“You don’t know how it is, Antoine. Your parents are
prosperous
gens de couleur libres
. Your Maman was lucky enough to find your Papa so
they could build a life together. Build a life for
you
-
but it’s not that easy for everyone. This is the only world I’ve
ever known. How can I openly condemn the very practice that gave
birth to me? I may not agree with it, but if I openly shun it that
makes my whole life one big lie.”

His nostrils flared and he shook his
head. “But…”

I hushed him by pressing my index finger
up against his lips. “I know. I know. You don’t approve. We’ll have
to agree to disagree.”

“
Cecile Antoinette Fanchon
LaNuit!” Maman screeched from the porch.

Even though she was an
exquisitely dressed tiny woman with exceptionally beautiful
features
,
the mere sight of her angry had the power to make my blood run
cold.

“
Adieu,”
I whispered, giving Antoine a
final strong, reassuring smile.

“
How could you!” she hissed
venomously. Her nails dug into my wrist and her thin lips were
twisted into a cruel scowl as she dragged me inside the house.
“You’re not a child! How dare you! How dare you! How dare you sneak
off with him! Your reputation is on the line! No one wants a ruined
woman- no one!” Her eyes were wild and filled with so much fire I
had no choice but to bow my head in submission and hold my breath,
hoping she wouldn’t smell the absinthe on it.

“
He’s my friend, Maman,” I said
weakly.

She let go of my wrist, took me by my
shoulders and shook me as if she were trying to pull me out of a
deep slumber. “Friend! Friend! You are too old for friends like
him! He’s a man! You’re a fully grown woman! Why can’t you be like
Isadora’s girls? Do you see them sneaking off and acting like
classless savages? Do you ever see them unaccompanied? What am I
going to do with you? You’re throwing your future away. Did I raise
you to be this way? Do you want to spend the rest of your life
working as a seamstress or in some other miserable low-class
profession?”