Oppressed by Kira Saito

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.
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     

Chapter Twelve
    Once the Man and Twice the
Child
    Cecile LaNuit’s
Home , Rue de
Rampart
    New Orleans, 1852
     
     
    I sat across from Edmond, who with his
cold, hard gaze, perfect posture, luxurious blue velvet coat, and
impeccable hair appeared to be the epitome of refinement and class.
I found it difficult to be at ease around him, but I reminded
myself to relax and took in the comforting sight and rich buttery
scent of the glorious candlelit feast that had been laid out for
us. Escargots a la Bourguignonne, Chateaubriand with Béarnaise
sauce, raw oysters, seafood gumbo and freshly baked bread were
arranged on heavy white china, while crystal flutes were filled to
the brim with Champagne Charlie.
    I was ridiculously hungry and my stomach
was growling like an angry wolf, but nerves wouldn’t let me touch
any of the mouthwatering food because I was certain I would spill
some on my new gown. Little did I know that even delicious food
couldn’t make up for horrible company.
    “ Dickens!” Edmond scoffed and
looked at me as if I had just murdered his first-born son. “You
enjoy Dickens! He’s the essence of mediocrity; that’s why he’s so
popular with the unwashed masses. You shouldn’t be reading Dickens,
he’s an atrocity, just like this entire city! He’s