NOVEL-IN-PROGRESS
FROM THE SCREENPLAY
T h e R e v e n g e
Edited 1-21-26
How long will you hear your own splash when it's all that's left for you? The canal offers no answers, only solutions.
There at the marketplace, Severine moved fast and grabbed what she could when the vendors weren't looking and quickly tucked it under a rag in her basket. Perhaps two or three potatoes, if she could grasp them quickly enough. Small ones, her thoughts triggered, despite the magnitude of her hunger. She once tossed a fish in there. The fishmonger chased her forever. Forever, it seemed, because even days later, she still looked over her shoulder to see if he was gaining. In so many ways, he was.
J U S T I N S W I N G L E
1.
Albin had long known his way through the alleys along the canals of New Orleans, the ones that emptied into the sea. So dark were they that at times he could see little beyond his hand. He held it in front of his face, knowing that when the shadows stirred, the darkness could bleed evil. Like others who dwelled in the shadows, Albin kept a knife tucked deep in his boot. He could reach it even in the dark, and yet the darkness never stopped him from finding his way to her.
They said that Severine's people had long lived in New Orleans, and rumors had it that they were of French descent. Yet they all claimed that in the Quarter, and most knew enough French to argue their claims convincingly. Still, there are tales to be told in all dialects. How well you told your tales could easily mark you for survival.
Time and the circumstances of her days drifted until Severine found herself driven deeper into the shadows where the hopes of the forgotten always ended up. From there, she remained ever vigilant for the lurking dangers that might send her reeling to the next alley or even to the very edge of the canal itself, as she, too, knew her way around the French Quarter. Along with every quick exit.
After heading up and down those dirty alleys where she hoped no one would see her, and yet feared what would become of her if no one did, she headed to the marketplace. Severine made her way through the crowd with her covered basket and so little else. To disappear among them, she'd pull her golden-brown hair up under a tattered, long scarf that she wrapped around her head. It never looked peculiar, as many domestics wore it this way to protect against the sun. Still, wouldn't that rag serve to conceal her beauty from the men who strayed? When she noticed their eyes following, her instinct was to tug her scarf down and wrap the ends around her mouth and long neck. Even on blisteringly hot days, this was her ritual.
There at the marketplace, Severine moved quickly to grab what she could when the vendors weren't looking and tucked it under a rag in her basket. Perhaps two or three potatoes, if she could grasp them quickly enough. Small ones, her thoughts triggered, despite the magnitude of her hunger. She once tossed a fish in there. The fishmonger chased her forever. Forever, it seemed, because even days later, she still looked over her shoulder to see if he was gaining. In so many ways, he was.
There were always days when Severine was frightened, and that fear could only be calmed by conjuring the faces of her little ones, Marbella and Petite Mere. But they were yet to come. It would be for her daughters that she risked the wrath of the fishmongers, as didn't they beam when she returned to their shanty near the docks with enough in her basket for potato soup or fish stew? And, on a good day, maybe an orange to share. Their smiles came to be what she lived for, even if there had been something else. But there wasn't. Severine was slowly dying, and the hourglass only ticked louder as the days floated past on her weakening breath. Still, she didn't need no clock to see what lay ahead, as there was nothing there to look for. So, she pondered what, in her final days and those that followed, would become of her jeunes filles? It stalked Severine's every thought until it became a living nightmare. How could she silence the ticking of time, her prayers pleaded, long enough to glimpse what might lie ahead for her two girls when she was no more? No, it kept ticking in her thoughts. No, again and again. There was nothing up ahead for these children who were yet to come: one white and one black. No better days to hope for. Still, what if blessings truly came to those in need of grace, as the priest promised? And yet, the days of her exhaustion only suggested that he had it all wrong. Maybe Jesus told him to say that because hope is so perishable, particularly when it stretches thin, as it usually does in those narrow, dark alleys. But then, what if, Severine wondered?
2.
It had been hard for Severine even before the babies came. They were born together; Marbella arrived before Petite Mere. She was tiny but demonstrated from her first days that strong will to survive. Petite was vigorous but would learn that struggle would be her destiny, that is if her sister could not save her from that life too close to those canals of New Orleans. You see, Severine had no husband. It was always hard for those women. Where do you go if you can still run? All the same, who'd listen to your pleas if you could make it there? And still, who could decipher the pleas through the din of desperation from those crowding the very edges of the canal? It's at these very edges where desperation can plunge you over the embankment and into the brackish water when there is no other place waiting for you. There you'd hear that voice ringing again: "Quickly, and without a lingering thought, drop yourself over the edge and then inhale the black water before you smell it, and all will be over." And so were the voices in her head, and when she tried not to hear, they got louder. Was your final stumble to the edge of darkness because they couldn't hear your stomach growling? It never stopped searing her thoughts because they wouldn't hear your splash either, always droning back. To escape these ruminations, there were places where Severine allowed her thoughts to wander. But just as quickly, she'd turn and head in another direction, as thoughts of a better place only came with pain that stung all the greater. Still, the voices followed; always there and always growing louder. Let the chains of shame drop off, as leaving one's past behind is the only way to survive, her ruminations struggled with. No, you can't carry all that bondage wandering down alleys when it's only your hopes that might come to deliver you to one more day. Nothing else in your pocket is gonna do it because there's nothing there. Maybe that's a blessing. Count them when you see them, and then double the numbers on the days when you can't. But then again, is it really easier to have no history, no recollections of the past days you somehow survived? How long will you hear your own splash when it's all that's left to you? The canal offers no answers, only solutions.
One morning, long before Marbella and Petite Mere, Severine wandered far from the alleys over to the French Quarter without her basket. The burden of its emptiness had grown too heavy. The dizziness that hunger brings does that. If anything was going to come her way, there, across from the Rampart where the rich lived, was the only place it might. She clung to the hope she'd find something to eat. Over there. Surely. Even with her thoughts pierced by jabs of hunger, she could still envision a loaf of bread sitting in a kitchen window she'd never come upon before, and yet still held hope that she would pass by one day, if she were blessed with that many days. Bread, sitting in some rich person's kitchen window cooling. Maybe there'd be two loaves and no one looking. Two, one she could sell. But that day, there was no open window with bread waiting. At least not for her. And such were Severine's thoughts that kept jumping ahead of her as if they aimed to trip her over the very edge.
But then Severine saw a tub woman when she stepped into the alley to dump her tub water. The woman at first only glared at her suspiciously.
"Hey, you over there! You a whore?"
"What…?" is all that Severine's throat could summon. She knew whores were chased off as fast as they were chased after by them Frenchmen with a coin or two in their pockets. How could it matter which way you ran? It didn't even matter if you were not one of those women. All the same, Severine had no run left in her.
The tub woman looked Severine up and down, perhaps like a priest counting one's sins as if they were stains running down her threadbare dress. The stains of sin. But with a bandana tied around her head like any tub woman, this woman was no priest and harbored other thoughts.
"You come over here," the tub woman motioned to Severine through the back gate from the alley and into the garden. Having no other options, Severine obeyed.
"I got a sick lady up there," the woman gestured to the big house that loomed behind her. "I need me some help with my tubs. I can't get to 'em and do all my house chores. I got no money, but I feed you. I feed you good. My lady up there, she's rich. She gots lots of food. I feed you," she repeated and the last time Severine heard for real.
Severine had no plans for the day, and her hopes had gone looking for the canal. She followed the woman over to the washhouse. Inside, piles of sour-smelling clothes awaited someone desperate enough to roll up her sleeves and attend. Severine backed off at the sight even as she could hardly stand upright. Even with the morning light streaming through the broken washhouse window, her vision blurred as if it were suddenly growing dark; the blur that comes when your blood drains to your feet even as they struggle for an exit. Or perhaps to put a foot down in the next life.
But the tub woman knew why Severine could barely stand. All tub women know the signs. Been there, haven't they?
"I got food. I feed you good, I said!"
Severine placed a wager on the moment, one she had little to back. If she could make it to the next meal, she might make it to the next day. Yes, there was only one plate of food between her and the canal. She slowly worked her sleeves up and went to work. As soon as the tub woman saw that Severine could work a washboard, she left. But soon returned with a tray.
"Here! Food," the woman said. "Sit down over there on the cot."
Severine sat. No, she fell over onto the cot. "Put your fears aside," the voice that had shadowed her whispered, "the canal will still be waiting for your surrender." The woman set the tray next to Severine and pulled the cloth off. Half or so of what had been left of a roasted chicken, boiled red potatoes, and bread. It was still warm. There was plenty of butter, too. She could eat the apple later and slid it into her pocket as she'd done with the one from the market. The one she'd eaten days before or even before that. The instinct to steal never leaves those who hunger. It goes sharp on you when your pockets are empty, and no priest is gonna change that with prayers to redeem your soul.
"Right here," the tub woman said. "You sleep here. Ain't nobody gonna bother you in this here washhouse. I come down at night and latch the gate to the alley when I 'member. Got to go back out and unlatch it. Them tradesmen come through early, don't they? Me, I used to sleep right here, but my lady told me to come up and sleep on the rag rug next to her bed. Maybe she gonna need a glass of water middle of the night. It don't matter. It's warmer up there come winter. "
How did this tub woman know she'd hardly slept in days? Been there, hadn't she? All the same, Severine ate well that morning and later slept peacefully. How long had it been? Even Jesus had probably left off counting, as happens when one's prayers crumble into dirges.
3.
That night, lying on the cot, Severine realized she'd gotten through the day when she walked through that gate from the alley and so challenged more to follow. It had been a while since she had eaten more than once a day, and even then, only here and there. But then in the days ahead, she would work hard for what she got, knowing she had that cot and a door to shut out the bleak night of the alley. But there'd come a night when she'd find not all of it because latches, like hearts, can be easily broken.
Early one morning, Jane, the tub woman, came in and dumped a pile of her lady's laundry at Severine's feet.
"First, we go to the church. Come, we go now 'fore it gets hot."
Severine shook her head. She wasn't going to no church. She hated the way the priests looked at her. It wasn't like they looked at them rich women at Mass. No, their smiles went stiff when she knelt at their feet with her hands crossed and palms up to receive the host. Perhaps she didn't pray hard enough. Church is a place to wonder about such things while pondering the Lord's resurrection, along with what those long burnt-out candles had been thinking. Before their flickers went out, did they truly convey the prayers of the suffering to Jesus, as the priest so claimed? Maybe he lied. Else why am I still here? she wondered. Even as the canal still smiles for me in my dreams.
"Yeah, you come," Jane said again. "Today, they hand out clothes. Things them fancy French women don't want no more. I reckon them fancy things come from France, don't they? The women leave 'em off in a pile at the door, thinkin' they's goin' to heaven for it. The bigger their pile, the closer to Jesus they is. Huh! They ain't goin' no place but down 'cause Jesus didn't give 'em them things 'cause they was better than you or me. No, it don't work that way in heaven."
She pointed to the dirt at her feet, the depths of which, in Jane's mind, was where hell awaited the rich.
"Come, we get there early and find something good for you 'fore the others pick things over."
Severine nodded. From the door of the shed, Jane looked up to see if her lady was standing at the window up there. But her drapes were still pulled. Jane smiled and nodded to Severine and gestured toward the alley gate they would depart through.
"What's the matter with your lady up there?" Severine asked once they were out of sight of the big house.
"Miss Marie? Ain't nothin' wrong with that woman. She's just lazy as a sow pig, is all. I reckon she done had somebody come dump her chamber pot all her damned days. And let me tell you, them folks in the quarter, they been sayin' she's a kept woman. Don't know, do I? 'Cause I sure ain't seen no man ever 'round. Nope. But she doin' fine whatever she doin', ain't she now? And what else matters?"
Jane's laugh was hearty from the gut, as though there were gravel down there, but Severine had already begun to wonder just how much gravel might be in Jane's tales as well.
"Then why do you stay with her?" Severine asked.
"Like I tol' you, she gots food. They bring something or 'nother by every other day or so, don't they now? Yep, right through that back-alley gate they come with their wares."
"What? Who does?" Severine had never heard of such a thing. "Who brings food by?"
"Well, you name it; that's all I gots to say. She done got herself rich woman's accounts all over the Quarter, don't she? Yes, Ma'am. Grocer come by and leaves it on the table around dawn. Miss Marie, she don't come down, so she don't even know what they brung and she don't care none. Well then, she hardly ever leave her room, do she?"
Jane chuckled when Severine's stomach growled from hunger.
"We go over to the fish shack down at the docks to fill your empty belly after we get you a blouse or skirt at the church. Yeah, we get us some fried fish."
"You got money?" Severine asked.
"Money? I tol' you. She don't never know what they brung by. So I go about selling a few things here and there whats I get my hands on. That's all there is to that!" Jane replied with her head held high.
The fish shack was down at the docks where the fishing boats came in. There was a man there who fried up the best of the catch what come in that morning. There at the counter, Severine smiled and watched. The fish was good. It was rolled in cornmeal and fried right there. Seemed even better when he brought another plate. Jane grabbed pieces with her fingers. The man had broad shoulders and was as black as tar. Jane called him Albin. He winked at Jane, and she shot one back along with a giggle. Severine and Jane left without putting no money on the counter. Well, well, Severine thought. Well, well indeed.
And so the days followed. Severine worked the tubs for her cot and a plate of food and watched closely as Jane showed her how to survive on her side of the Quarter where someone brings food around, but nobody thought a thing of it. So, then, what could matter beyond working through those piles of clothes? Even the smell of that canal seemed to fade into Severine's past, with so much else.
4.
Those long days spent bent over a washboard are the times to chase down your thoughts. Severine's seemed to loop around her every movement with more questions than before. Like, how could that old lady up there go through so many clothes and linens in a week? That is, if what Jane had said was true; that she never left her bedchamber. And didn't she say her lady was blind and deaf? So, maybe the old woman hid secrets. Don't all rich folks dwell on the other side of their secrets? Severine wondered as her thoughts idled waiting for answers.
Then early one morning, when Severine had barely started her first tub, Jane flew in with a pile of laundry that she dropped at the washhouse door. She turned and headed back into the kitchen, but soon returned with a big piece of buttered bread and a crock mug of coffee that Severine could smell all the way from her washboard. She smiled. It had sugar.
"Eat," Jane said. "Later we go to the market and then down to the docks. My Albin, he gonna have a good piece of fish for us. Big one. He say enough for two be waiting."
Severine smiled again, took another bite of her bread, and went back to her tub. And so became another morning when thoughts of the canal all but floated away like the driftwood it carried off to the sea.
But late afternoon came around, and yet Jane hadn't. Severine figured maybe she'd forgotten and then wandered off by herself. But then the back door opened, and Jane went to whistling as she swept off the stoop. That was her signal to get ready, as they'd soon be hightailing it through the back gate and down the alley. Guess Miss Marie was lost to her afternoon nap. Still, they slipped out into the alley quietly.
"I go to the fish shack to see my man whenever I can get away. Don't you know we're gonna be taking off soon."
"Taking off? But to where?" Severine asked.
Taking off was not a notion that had ever crossed Severine's mind, as she'd long thought there was no place to take off to. Who told her that only a swamp full of gators existed past New Orleans? She couldn't remember, and yet feared the very thought, knowing that in the Quarter lies were stacked upon lies until they crumbled where the gators waited and watched for the fall that would fill their bellies.
"Goin' to Natchez. I got a sister there, you know. She gonna take us in till Albin gets work. Maybe he get it down at the docks there. They pay good and pay up ever' day. When we got enough saved up, we gonna get married. Yeah, that's the way we're talkin'."
"How you gonna get there?" Severine asked. "If, like you say, the old lady don't pay you but scraps off her table."
This time, Jane's laugh startled Severine as it seemed full of bitterness.
"Oh, she pays me," Jane reminded her. "But she don't know how much."
Jane chuckled when she opened the burlap bag she was carrying for Severine to see. In there was a small smoked ham, a block of Roquefort cheese that Severine could smell, and some apples. Other things were wrapped in tissue. Jane handed one to Severine and winked. Severine unwrapped a tiny bar of fancy soap.
"Where you go to sell these things?"
Severine held the soap to her nose. French lavender.
"I show you," Jane replied. "On the way to the docks. Got me some ladies over that way who pay dear for what they brung by Miss Marie's. And she don't never know what's missing, and she don't care none when she do. I been givin' ever' penny what come from selling my goods to Albin. He say he gonna keep it safe for after we get married so we can get a place of our own. Yep, me and Albin gonna be together forever. Ain't nothin' ever gonna come between us."
With those words, Jane smiled. For the first time, Severine could see the tenderness her eyes expressed that enveloped her hopes for a future with Albin. One as far away from Miss Marie's as her dreams could manipulate.
"The old lady don't know what's missing?" Severine asked incredulously.
"No, she never had an empty belly in her life. She don't care about food, do she? No, she don't 'cause she's white like you so she ain't never had an empty belly."
Jane laughed out loud. But there was nothing the same about Miss Marie's whiteness and Severine's. Well, maybe, but then again. Still, these virgin thoughts were fleeting because what if the priest had heard, like he claimed he could hear Jesus talk about our sins? No, Severine was not like no rich woman. Ask the priest.
In the days ahead, Severine saw little of Jane. It seemed as though Jane headed out whenever she had her burlap bag weighed down with contributions from Miss Marie's cupboard. And then came a day when it seemed as though Jane no longer invited Severine to come with her. Maybe that meant no more fish at the docks. Severine didn't think much of it. After all, Jane had shared how good Albin was, how hardworking, and her schemes for their lives once they were married. She figured maybe Jane needed to weave her dreams with her man alone. Still, she wondered if Albin really held to the same dreams, as at times Severine sensed there was something broken between them despite their grins and winks. Like in times when the truth is broken between two people, and he can't seem to look you in the eye because of it. Severine could feel it as the man couldn't seem to look Jane in her worshipful eyes. But then he still looked into Severine's and seemed to hold that glance. There were moments when she wondered if Albin could even gather up her dashed thoughts. No, she thought, only the priest can do that.
But for Severine, there was no man and so little to look forward to beyond a plate of food scraped from Miss Marie's table of bounty. Certainly, nothing that might make her as giddy as Jane. Not much of anything beyond keeping her head above the canal water. Well, perhaps from time to time there was a fleeting dream of the day when she too would have a husband to dream alongside. A man to whom she could give her virginity. To feed that poetry, she went regularly to the church on the days when they put castoffs out for the poor. Here and there, she'd find a nice blouse before the other tub women grabbed onto it. Maybe the kind a man might find pretty, what with mother-of-pearl buttons and maybe some fancy topstitching. But still, always a stain or two. She could dream they weren't there, as though they'd fallen off as easily as the mother-of-pearl buttons. One at the collar. One on the fancy French cuff. Gone. But still… there was some beauty left. as along the canal, things of beauty were always scarce for those who struggled. Then, before the sun rose and Severine was sound asleep, Jane came in and shook her.
"I got me a ticket for the coach to Natchez! The early one what takes the mail. Gonna leave in an hour," Jane said. "Albin went and bought it yesterday. He say for me to go on ahead."
"What? Alone?"
"Albin, he gonna follow when he gets his money. He say the boss man's gonna pay him up real soon. Maybe next week if they get a good catch. You think?"
"Are you afraid of goin' without him?" Severine asked.
"No, I ain't. I go straight there and get things ready for Albin. Don't you know, it's best to do what your man tell you, then you got peace between you."
"I go, too?" Severine asked.
"To Natchez?"
"No, I go from here? Maybe the old woman will chase me off. Get the law down on me like a vagrant gonna go to jail? Yes?"
"Yeah, maybe. But you stay till she do. It don't matter none. I seen her. Seen Miss Marie looking down at the washhouse when we's talking. She saw me take food out the back. I knows she has. You think?"
"You said she's near to being blind. So, she ain't seein' much of nothin'."
Jane laughed or tried to.
"No, she ain't blind. Not for real, she ain't. She just don't see me. Anyway, what it matter? Who gonna dump her chamber pot when I'm gone for good?"
This time, Jane's laugh stymied in the back of her throat. But then she knew the path to nowhere, didn't she? She'd long walked it, what with her sleeping on that rich woman's floor and all, and maybe it stuck in her craw like she'd swallowed a knife.
"You fed me. I'll pray for you!" Severine vowed.
"I got to make the coach; else Albin be mad I wasted his ticket."
Jane reached to hug Severine but then pulled back and walked away. At that, Severine felt that to Jane she was no better than the old lady merely for being white.
5.
Without the food that Jane spirited out the back door, Severine had nothing. Well, nothing but a cot, a door, and a growing pile of worn garments with ragged trims. Still, she'd found another old basket somewhere in the alley and put it aside for a rainy day; the kind that always hides behind a dawn that has yet to come.
The next morning, Severine grabbed the basket and headed to the market to see what she could find with the notion of stopping by the church to say a prayer for Jane and maybe ask the priest, if he didn't turn his back on her, when there might be clothes left for the poor again.
At the market, Severine walked about and here and there grabbed something for her basket. The bruised fruit and vegetables were always off to the edges of the stalls, which made it easier. Then, when the vendor looked away, she'd knock something to the ground and quickly grab whatever fell to her feet. It was at the market that she ran into Albin. He came upon her with a big smile. It seemed as though the man was always smiling.
"You know, Jane, she's got to be near her sister's place by now. Maybe tomorrow, hey?"
Severine had never been on a public coach. She'd never gone anywhere but to the edge of the Quarter. Still, she nodded in agreement.
"You shopping for that rich old lady?" he asked.
"No. They bring things by. I peeked in the window this morning after they'd left. But Jane says she don't come down to look it over."
Albin glanced into Severine's basket and saw two bruised red French pears and a small potato.
"You 'member where the fish shack is?"
"What? I think," she replied.
"Down that way. Turn down the third street." He held up three fingers, so she'd know how many streets away. "Turn and walk down to the docks. Follow the squalls of them seagulls. Down there, I fry you a piece of fish. Maybe some shrimp, if the boat come in."
"How far did you say?"
Albin chuckled.
"You come with me so you don't get lost down them dark streets ain't never seen sun," he said. "Then you know when you want to eat my cookin'."
Albin's smile had widened since she'd last seen the man, she thought, as well as the glint in his eyes.
"You know, I done bought the fish shack," he announced proudly.
"What?"
Severine then wondered when Albin would be joining his woman. Had she misunderstood Jane's musings all along?
"Yeah, I finally got my hands on enough money to put a down payment on it. I sure did."
Albin took her basket, and they started off.
"You follow from behind. Hear?" he added. "So, them Creole women down at the fish stalls don't say nothin' about you coming alongside a black man."
Alban went on whistling as Severine fell back a few paces.
There, at the fish shack, with Albin behind the counter, Severine had a good meal with all the fried red potatoes she could eat. Alban tossed aside her bruised pears and filled her basket with this and that pulled out from under the counter. Severine left with a full basket, a full stomach, along with Albin's smile that followed.
6.
At times, Severine lay awake at night wondering how long it would be before Miss Marie sent her packing. Like maybe she was gonna get the law down on her like they did vagrants. But that's not what happened.
It was late one night, a few days after Severine came upon Albin at the market. From the humidity, she couldn't sleep and stood at the washhouse door, looking up at the stars when she heard a garbled sound, a moan of sorts. Sounded like it was coming from Miss Marie's open window up there. Then she heard it again. What if the old woman was sick? Even worse, what if she was dying and Severine was still in the washhouse when her time came? Would she be guilty? But of what? Severine easily reckoned that the poor are always guilty, and the rich never are. Aren't they the ones who built jails for the others?
Severine crossed the garden to the kitchen door, where she found it unlatched. Inside, she looked about and again heard faint moans. She followed them up the service stairs and down a long corridor to a polished mahogany door. Severine put her ear to it. The moans grew louder. She opened it. There she found Miss Marie sprawled on the carpet. Perhaps she'd fallen out of her bed. Severine carefully turned the old woman over onto her back.
"I'm Severine, Madame."
"But where's Jane?" Miss Marie stammered. "Didn't I tell her to go fetch me a glass of water?"
"Jane's gone. Days ago. Can you stand if I help you?"
Miss Marie struggled up. With Severine bracing her, she made it to her feet and back to her bed.
"I go fetch you a glass of water."
As she came back down the stairs, Severine sighed with relief that the old woman wasn't dead and went for the water. No, the law wasn't gonna be coming after anyone. At least not tonight.
7.
The next day, Severine awoke with the events of that night in the big house clinging to her thoughts as she dressed. What would she do today, she wondered, and how long the food Albin had given her would last? And then where would she grab her basket and head to next? All over again, she began to smell the canal where they dumped their chamber pots along with the empty souls: those poor women who had lost hope of ever seeing a better tomorrow, where a freshly baked loaf of bread awaited.
But the answer was waiting there when she opened the washhouse door. At her feet was a small pile of clothes to be laundered. And two apples lying there on top. At first, she had in mind that Jane might have returned. But no. Jane hated Miss Marie and said she would never come back. Severine put her sorted piles into her tub to soak and then slipped the apples into her basket under her cot, where it stood ready for when the time came and she'd be driven back into the alley of no end.
The day was long, but the night would last the rest of her days. When the candle burned out, Severine put the iron aside and fell onto her cot, exhausted. How long had she slept when she awakened to find a man standing in the open washhouse door? The moonlight flooding in from behind blurred his face. Still, she knew the voice well enough.
"Jane, she gone and she ain't never comin' back 'cause she ain't got no money for it. And she ain't never gonna get it!"
Albin smiled and then pulled off his shirt. His skin glistened from the humidity.
"And she ain't never gonna come by it."
Leaving the door open to the hot night, he went over to the cot and cupped her mouth with his big hand and shoved her resistant legs apart. It would be more than a smile that Albin delivered this time.
There was nothing Severine could do, even after the violation. Albin lay there snoring with Severine wedged tightly between him, the wall and his smell of dead fish. You see, the knife, which had fallen out of his boot at the side of the cot, kept her from screaming. But then scream for whom?
A few hours later, Albin awakened when the morning sun streamed in through the open door, blinding him. He rubbed his eyes, pulled on his clothes, and was about to head off without a word to his victim. But standing there, scowling, was Miss Marie, and she knew, didn't she? He knew she did, but still chuckled in her face.
"Get out of my way, old woman."
"I know you," Miss Marie said, looking up into his grinning face.
"You got that fish shack down there you done put money on. Where'd it come from, fish man? That money? Well, what it matter now? Cause you gonna wake up to see hell one night. One night soon. Don't need money in hell, do you fish man? You know what I mean, huh? What's your wife gonna do with you then? She ain't gonna take you back, is she? No, she don't need you now, do she? Well, she ain't never needed you. Folks talk, don't they? The woman already gots to open her legs to feed your kids. What kind of man is that? Your kind, ain't it so? And now look what you've done to Jane! Another stupid girl who can't see what a man like you is made of. No, that girl couldn't see even when she looked you straight in the eyes. Couldn't see you don't gotta a soul. That right, stupid man? Devil got it. He keepin' in hell!"
Miss Marie looked past Albin to Severine still on the cot with her hand covering her mouth to hold back her shrieks of fear. Seemed like Miss Marie's words had also brought fear to Albin, as even in the heat of the moment, his face went cold with sweat. He wiped it off on his hand, and his grin slid away with it.
"Now you get off my property, stupid man, else I put the law on you, and then they find you floatin' down the canal to where them hungry gators are. Yep, you know how them gators love a good hog carcass."
Miss Marie stood tall and laughed in the man's face.
Albin wiped his brow and walked around Miss Marie. No, this tiny woman wasn't gonna step aside for him. So, what were Miss Marie's other secrets? Well, Albin would soon find out that Jesus had untangled her rosary and it would chain Albin to his destiny.
"Severine, I 'member your name from when I had my fall. Now you go upstairs, child. There's a foot basin up there, soap, and towels. Go up and clean the smell of that fish man off. Then come back down and put away the food what they brung by earlier."
"Oui, Madame."
Well, Jane was now far gone, and Albin had disappeared back down the alley, but Severine was still there. For now, her basket would remain stashed under the cot, waiting for what was next.
8.
Severine made her way upstairs as Miss Marie bid. Next to the room Severine had found Miss Marie the night of her fall was one with a foot bath. On the white marble-topped commode was a pitcher of water and a Chinese porcelain bowl with soap. She stepped into the basin and slowly poured water over her shoulders. But did Miss Marie mean for her to use her soap? Severine held it to her nose. It had lavender oil. The smell of Albin had been killed. Later, she figured, she would go pour out the after-death in the alley. Then she could stand there wondering what might come next. But for now, Severine headed back down the service stairs to the kitchen, where she found Miss Marie looking over the baskets and parcels that had been delivered earlier.
"First, you eat, child. Then you put these things away."
Severine looked about the kitchen with all its half-open cupboards and shelves stacked with dry goods, jars, dried hams, and assorted tins.
"Put them where, Madame?" Severine asked.
"Where, you ask? But why does it matter?" Miss Marie asked and pulled out a bottle of wine to inspect. "I done sent a message to a man. He's coming 'round to talk to me about some work I got for him. You send him up. Theory is his name. He will know."
"Oui, Madame."
"There are six bedchambers upstairs. You pick one that suits you."
"Then you don't want me to go" Severine asked.
"Why should you leave? And then, where would you go? Don't you yet know the alley is too long for any woman to ever find the end?"
At that, Miss Marie went back upstairs to wait for Theory. Severine pulled an apple out of the burlap bag, slipped it into her pocket, and started going through the delivery.
It was late that morning when the man responded to Miss Marie's summons. He came through the rear service door. Theory was maybe French, or at least spoke with an accent. Maybe it was a French Creole dialect, as he was dark-skinned with the darkest blue eyes that almost appeared black. Perhaps his long lashes hid the true color and as well as all the secrets they'd put away up over days past.
"Oui, Monsieur?"
"I am Theory. Miss Marie has work for me."
"She said for you to attend her upstairs."
Miss Marie's instructions puzzled Severine as women in the Quarter did not meet men upstairs other than their husbands. But then she knew nothing of their relationship. From the kitchen below, Severine could hear the man's footsteps to Miss Marie's bedchamber. The one that looked down into the garden and beyond to the laundry house. How did he know?
Severine was still sorting through all the bounty the vendors had delivered when he came back down the service stairs.
"I start tomorrow," Theory announced, gazing over the table of parcels.
"Start, Monsieur?" Severine was puzzled.
"Tomorrow."
He grabbed a red French pear from a large wooden bowl Severine had just filled, along with one of the bottles of wine that she had pulled out of a wooden crate packed with sawdust.
Theory glanced at the label.
"From France," he announced with a smile. He slid the bottle under his arm and headed to the door but there he paused and held it up. "Miss Marie said."
Without having anything to do after putting things away, Severine wandered upstairs to see if she could be of service to Miss Marie, but her door was closed. Perhaps she was resting. Hadn't Jane painted the picture that the old woman seemed to nap all the time or at least hid herself away in her chamber? Maybe. But then again…
Upstairs, Severine went down the long hall, opening doors to bedchambers, all kept as though guests were imminently expected. Could it be that Miss Marie had a large family? Jane had said nothing on it, but then she'd said little about Miss Marie that stood, as there always seemed to be more between Jane's utterances about her lady than what Severine saw for herself. Perhaps it was the way Jane grimaced when she talked about Miss Marie that seemed to thicken her stories. it was beginning to seem to Severine as though the gravel in Jane's tales had really been quicksand. So, Severine kept wondering: If Jane slept on Miss Marie's floor, why did the old lady offer Severine her choice of bedchambers? In so many ways, the numbers seemed to fall off.
Door after door, Severine made her way to the end of the long hall and opened the door to one that was not as well appointed as the others. Perhaps once a maid's? She figured she'd sleep there until Miss Marie had decided what to do with her. There, she found the papered walls sun-bleached but still breathtakingly beautiful. Severine fell over onto the down-filled bed. The sheets were soft as beaten linen and smelled sweet. As she was about to drift away, her hand discovered a small sachet under the pillow. It was filled with French lavender flowers and crushed cloves. The fragrance, so at odds with those of the wash house, intoxicated her. She fell asleep, where her dreams conveyed her to another place she'd never known or smelled before. Like one of those her maman told her of. One where daydreams are tucked away along with scented sachets and the lavender that grows in rows along gravel paths, as it does in the South of France.
9.
It was barely daybreak when Severine woke to the sound of men talking loudly out on the street. She peeked through the curtains, where she saw a big tradesman's wagon drawn by four horses. She watched as the men unloaded their tools and headed to the back, carrying sledgehammers. As one of these men was Theory, she didn't worry until she heard the crashing sound of splintering wood. Severine ran downstairs and into the garden. There she found Theory and his men razing the wash house. The demonic swinging of sledgehammers frightened her as they went about pounding at the thin walls. Just as Severine was about to run back into the house for Miss Marie, she noticed her gazing down from her bedchamber. From her window, she nodded. Severine then figured Miss Marie knew what Theory was doing. As the men carried the splintered wood out to the wagon, Severine again wondered about the secrets rich folks kept. Theory paused and smiled at Severine. The moment clung and reached her heart in a way she found somewhat disconcerting. How long had it been, she wondered, since a man's smile had enticed her to smile back? She quickly turned to go back in with hopes that Theory hadn't noticed her heart beating loudly.
There in the kitchen, Severine went about boiling eggs for Miss Marie and herself. She put extra butter on her egg before glancing out the window. As she ate her egg, she witnessed the wash house come to an end, and where it had stood, only a pile of broken and jagged pieces of dry wood remained to be gathered up and hauled away. And yet, strangely, the smell of Albin still lingered in her nostrils.
10.
That evening, while preparing a soup for Miss Marie, Severine found time to collect her colliding thoughts. How did Miss Marie come to know that Albin was not welcome back at his place? How did she know of his wife even as Jane had not? Who came to tell their story, and why would they have? You see, the man had been out late too late, too many times, Miss Marie had shared. Albin's wife stopped listening to his lies when he told her he'd only been cleaning fish well into the night. This poor woman, Miss Marie declared with contempt, locked him out. That left Albin no other choice but to sleep on the floor of the fish shack. Down at the docks, it was cold, and the ground was hard and greasy, but that never kept Albin from his sleep. He used a bag of cornmeal to rest his head on. His muscular frame never felt the hard ground. Perhaps no more than his heart ever felt anything.
Late the following night, Miss Marie tapped on Severine's door.
"Oui, Madame?"
"It is the time. Get dressed, child; we go now to place our candles."
Then she genuflected.
"Candles, Madame?"
But Miss Marie walked away sans a reply. Severine heard her footsteps fade on the old creaking floor. Severine's thoughts tossed about. Given the hour, perhaps Miss Marie was, as Jane had warned, a little doddering. Still, Severine grabbed her clothes and went to glance down at the street where a carriage awaited.
At the entrance, Miss Marie stood holding two candle jars. They were the kind the priest sold, so when lit, one's prayers would ascend to Jesus in the scented smoke. That is if you'd paid enough for the candle. She handed one to Severine and left for the carriage, where Severine joined and waited for further word from Miss Marie. However, she revealed little more until Severine probed her intentions.
"I don't think the church doors are unlocked at this hour, Madame." Severine whispered as if the priest was surely listening.
"But, child, I find God everywhere," she said. "Even now, as we probe the darkness, he will not be expecting us."
"Who, Madame?"
"But, of course, it is the Devil we go to hunt down."
Miss Marie again genuflected and held her rosary to her lips.
"I plan everything most carefully. You must learn to do the same, child, if only to survive. You see, our power must always be invisible as it derives from what they do not see and therefore cannot expect when we appear for our revenge. That is your weapon. Can you yet see?"
But no, Severine could not, and Miss Marie's words did little to calm her fears as the carriage disappeared deeper into the fog that hovered over the docks.
There, close to where the waves crashed loudly, Severine glanced out the window. Miss Marie did not. It was as though she knew what awaited even as Severine could not have. At a distance from the carriage stood Theory with a lantern along with his men waiting alongside the big wagon still loaded with the debris of the razed washhouse.
What were they doing over there? Severine asked Miss Marie, who held her head defiantly and yet remained silent, her mouth pinched tightly. Yes, with her hands folded in her lap, Miss Marie sat quietly as if she were waiting for the Mass to begin.
Severine watched closely. Her eyes darted back and forth from Miss Marie's somber expression to Theory's, who offered no tender smile this time. Through the fog, the men went about unloading the broken boards and piled them around the fish shack. But why were they so quiet? Who could they disturb? Louder were the sounds of the sea pounding against the dock pilings, along with that flock of angry seagulls early in the hunt for fish scraps.
With their task completed, Theory nodded to Miss Marie and went to the back of the shack, where he quietly opened the door to find Albin snoring away. Outside, he latched the door and went back around, where he bowed to Miss Marie, who waited up at the street where she stood twisting her rosary through her fingers. And then she nodded. At that, the men also bowed and departed in their empty wagon. Miss Marie then reached into the carriage to retrieve the candles.
"Come child. It's time we pay the Devil his due. Yes, we will deliver him to Hell for his violation."
Severine shook her head in confusion.
"I don't understand, Madame?"
"Child, as I said, we are powerless at the very moment when they do not fear us. Come, follow me to the edge of
Hades. There we will gaze down into hell itself and yet walk away with our souls."
Severine followed Miss Marie, holding her lit candle with both trembling hands.
"We will throw light in the Devil's face," she added. Her cape snapped and whipped in the wind. "And never again shall he return in the heavy dark. No, child. We will destroy all his darkness with our fire."
Miss Marie placed the glass jar with the lit candle in front of the pile of splintered dry wood and then kissed her rosary once again.
"Here, we place the candles carefully at the base of the wood as though it were a desecrated, unholy altar dedicated to the Devil himself," Miss Marie directed. "The Devil is the prince of hell. We will pay our respects even as he knows that our lies are heard by Jesus and so will make him quake with fear. The Archangel Michael will smile upon us for taunting the Devil.
"What, Madame?"
Deep in the glass jar, the candle ignored the wind and burned brightly. Miss Marie gestured for Severine to place her candle. Severine did so, stood back, and she, too, crossed herself.
"Come, child. We have completed our mission. God will now set fire to the Devil's dreams. It will serve to drive him deeper into the hell he sought to drag you into.
Severine followed Miss Marie back to the carriage until she heard the shattering of glass. She jerked around to see that the wind had blown the jars over against the piled wood. At first, there arose a heavy smoke, but then a fire spread rapidly. The flames snapped and crackled as they raced up to the roof of the old fish shack. The acrid smoke clouded the sky, choked the old lady, and drove the seagulls away. But the black ravens, the very symbols of death, came to celebrate over the scraps they anticipated. Perhaps the very scraps of his severed soul.
Severine stood with her hand over her mouth. Her eyes filled with tears from the smoke the wind blew their way.
"Don't now fret, child. The Devil knows the flame. He is from hell. It will soon consume him back to where he belongs."
Miss Marie turned to smile at the roaring flames. But Severine did not smile. She heard his screams. Miss Marie turned and walked back to the carriage with her hands folded prayerfully as though egressing a Mass, but Severine stood in silence with her hands over her mouth, adding up the horror she'd just witnessed.
Choking from the smoke, Albin broke the door open and ran out of the shack moments before the flames swallowed the shack and it fell to ashes. It would seem as though he'd escaped hell once more, but still, Miss Marie had served upon him the fire she'd promised. Still she turned back one last time to smile at the stupid man before entering her carriage.
Albin stood there motionless, looking dazed and all so defenseless. But then he'd left his knife by the bag of cornmeal that his head rested on, and it was also gone. So now, as Miss Marie had warned, he could only feel the heat of hell cursing at his beaten backside. Yet the sharpness of the night would once again return, but this time it would be Jane who smiled into the face of the stupid man. She would plan her revenge for as long as she saved for the day of her revenge. It would come. Her bleeding heart would keep the vigil for the day.