NOVEL-IN-PROGRESS
FROM THE SCREENPLAY
T h e R e v e n g e
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.
1.
Albin had long known his way through those alleys. 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 along the canals, Albin kept a knife tucked into his boot. He could reach it even in the dark, and yet the darkness wouldn't stop him from finding his way to her.
Severine's people had long lived in New Orleans. No one cared where they came from, although rumors had it that they were of French stock. Yet didn't they all claim that in the Quarter? Most even knew enough French to argue their claims convincingly. Still, there were tales to be told in all dialects.
Time and the circumstances of her existence drifted until Severine found herself driven ever deeper into the shadows. From there she remained ever vigilant for the dangers that could 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.
At 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 she wrapped around her head. It never looked peculiar, as many domestics wore it this way to protect against the glaring sun. But then wouldn't that rag serve to conceal her beauty from the men who strayed? When she noticed their eyes following, she'd wrap the ends around her mouth and long neck. Severine had learned that by disappearing, she might better survive those narrow streets that were dark even in the glare of daylight.
There at the marketplace, Severine moved quickly 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 quick 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.
When Severine was frightened, she'd conjure the smiling faces of her little ones, Marbella and Petite Mere. But they were yet to come. It was for her daughters that she risked the wrath of fishmongers. 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 were what she lived for, even if there'd been something else. But there wasn't. Severine was dying. The hourglass ticked only louder as the days floated away 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 all those that followed would become of her jeunes filles, Marbella and Petite Mere? It came to haunt Severine's every thought until it became a living nightmare. Could she silence the ticking of time 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, one white and one black. No better days to hope for. And yet what if blessings can come to those most in need, as the priest so often promised? But the days pounding on her exhaustion only suggested the priest got it all wrong. Maybe Jesus told him to say that because hope is so perishable. But then what if...?
2.
It had been hard for Severine even before the babies came. They were born together; Marbella arrived an hour before Petite Mere, who was tiny but demonstrated from her first days a determined will to live. Her survival would one day be inextricably woven with that of her sister, Marbella, so many years after Severine's passing. But then perhaps Petite Mere took after her maman when it came to clawing her way to the next day. And 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 were to get there? Truly, hadn't there always been a din of desperation from those crowding the edges of the canal? Were they only the souls that waited to float on the next life? They said, someone did, that desperation can plunge you over the embankment and into the brackish water when there's no other place waiting for you. But the voices seemed always to be calling. Quickly, she heard, and without one last thought, drop yourself over the edge, and breathe in the black water before you smell it, and all will be over. The voices in her head told her so, and when she tried not to hear, they spoke as loudly as her hunger. Some days they were loud enough that her thoughts shattered. Was your final stumble to the edge of darkness, the voices demanded, because they couldn't hear your stomach growling? But they won't hear your splash either, echoed back. To escape these ruminations, there were places where Severine let her thoughts wander. Still, the voices followed always growing louder as the days passed. Let the chains of shame drop off as leaving one's past behind is one way, perhaps the only, to survive. No, you can't carry all that bondage wandering up and down those alleys when it's only your hopes that might come to deliver you to another 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 when you can't. But it's not always easier having no history, no recollections of your past lives; but then again, no pain of guilt dragging you down. How long will you hear your own splash when it's all that's left for you? The canal offers no answers, only solutions. Still, you beg the voices for peace and keep wondering: how long will it take after the water folds over my head and the currents carry me over to the other side where my rewards await? There's no one to answer. Still, tick, tick, tick slowly goes the hourglass, and it's starting to rhyme with the rumblings in my head. "Jump!", the voice rings between her thoughts. Painlessness is only a step away. Jump, so the ticking in my head will stop. Finally. And then all that's left is to drift under the currents for a moment or two. But is that a promise? How far away am I from the edge of nothing more? What if I can't even get close enough because how long are the voices' lies? Could they be longer than my prayers? Jesus, where are you in the darkness that stalks my every thought? The priest said nothing, when Severine asked.
One morning, months before she gave birth to Marbella and Petite Mere, Severine wandered far from the alleys along the canals and over to the French Quarter without her basket. All its emptiness had grown too heavy for her. The dizziness that hunger brings does that. If anything was going to come her way, there across from the Rampart was the only place it might. But truly? She still clung to the hope that she'd find something to eat. Over there. Surely. Although her thoughts were pierced with 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 she'd pass by one day. Bread, sitting in some rich person's kitchen window cooling. What if there were two loaves and no one looking? Two, then one she could sell. But that day there was no open window with bread waiting for her desperate reach. Alas, there was little else but thoughts of that stinking canal. Severine's thoughts kept jumping ahead of her surely aiming to trip her to the edge she'd long been dangling over.
But then Severine saw a tub woman when she stepped into the alley to dump her tub water. The woman paused to stare at Severine but then motioned to her.
"Hey, you are over there! You a whore?"
"What…?" is all that Severine's hunger-constricted 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 that you were not one of those women. But what difference could it make as 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, he might argue. But this woman, with a bandana tied around her head like a tub woman was no priest and harbored other thoughts.
"You come over here." The tub woman motioned Severine through the back gate and into the garden. Severine obeyed, as it was unlikely she'd get far if she merely turned and went the way she'd come. She entered that gate because what she faced had to smell better than the alley she'd been pacing for days with only her fears to cling to.
"I got a sick lady up there," the woman gestured to a window upstairs in 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 in the pantry. I feed you," she repeated. The last time Severine heard for real.
With that, Severine left behind her vacant plans for the day, as well as her hopes that had gone looking for the canal. She took a deep breath and followed the woman over to the laundry house. Inside, piles of sour-smelling clothes awaited someone desperate enough to roll up her sleeves and attend. Severine backed off at the sight as she could hardly stand upright. Even with the morning light streaming through the broken laundry house window, her vision blurred as if it was suddenly growing dark. It was the kindless 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 it seemed as though the tub woman knew why Severine could barely stand. All tub women know the signs. Because they've been there, hadn't they?
"It ain't no lie! I got food. I feed you good!"
Severine placed a wager on the moment, one she had so 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 knew a washboard, she left. But soon returned with a tray.
"Food," the woman said. "Sit down over there on the cot."
Severine sat. No, she all but folded over onto the cot. "Put your fears aside," the voice that shadowed her whispered, "the canal will still be waiting when you're ready to concede." 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 a dollop of butter melting over the top. She could eat the apple later and so 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 but goes sharp on you when your pockets are empty. No priest is ever gonna change that with prayers to redeem your soul.
"Right here," the tub woman said. "You sleep here. Ain't nobody gonna come bother you in this here laundry house 'cause I come out at night and latch that there gate you come through. Me, I used to sleep right here, but my lady done 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 seems to happen when the prayers turn to dirges.
3.
The next morning, Severine realized she'd gotten through the day she walked through that alley gate and had invited more to follow. It had been a while since she'd eaten more than once a day, and even then, only here and there. But now she worked hard for what she got, knowing she at least had that cot and a door to shut out the bleak alley nights. But there'd come a night when she'd find not all of it. Latches, like hearts, can so easily be broken open.
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, not like they looked at them rich women at Mass. No, their smiles went stiff when she knelt at their feet with hands crossed and palms up to receive the host at holy communion. Perhaps she didn't pray hard enough and so her thoughts wandered in tyrannical circles. Church is a place to think about such things even while pondering the Lord's resurrection, along with what those long burnt-out candles at the church's door may have conveyed. Before their flicker finally went out, did they lift the prayers of the suffering to Jesus, as the priest so claimed? But what if he lied? Else why am I still here? she wondered, even as the canal still smiled for her attendance.
"You come," Jane said again. "Today, they hand out clothes. Things them French women don't want no more. Yeah, them fancy clothes look to 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! But they ain't goin' no place but down."
She pointed to the dirt at her feet, the depths of which, in Jane's mind, was where hell welcomed the rich. Jane closed in to finish her diatribe.
"They ain't nothing but greedy bitches, them French women, like the one up there."
She pointed up to the old lady's window.
"Come, we get there early and find something good for you 'fore the others pick things over."
Severine nodded. As they approached the back gate, Jane looked up to see if her lady was standing at the window watching the goings-on below at the laundry house, but her drapes were still drawn. Jane smiled and nodded to Severine, and the gate closed behind them along with the morning.
"What's the matter with your lady up there?" Severine asked once they were out of sight of the big house.
"Miss Marie? In my mind there 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' for a long time that she's a kept woman. Don't know, do I?" Jane laughed so hard it startled Severine. "But I sure ain't seen no man 'round. Nope, I ain't. But she doin' fine whatever she doin', ain't she now?"
Jane's laugh was hearty from the gut, as though there was gravel down there. But Severine began to wonder just how much gravel was in Jane's tales.
"Then why you stay with her?" Severine asked.
"Like I tol' you, she gots food. They brings baskets and parcels every other day or so, don't they now? Yep, right through that back-alley gate they come with their wares and leave the bills on the table. I can't read none, but know when they's très cher what they brung."
"What? Who brings it?" Severine had never heard of such a thing. "Who brings food by but don't have their hand out for the money?"
"Well, now you see she done got herself rich woman's accounts all over the Quarter, don't she? Yes, Ma'am. Grocer come by and put it on the table soon after the sun come up. Miss Marie, she ain't never gonna come down for no tradesman, 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.
"After we get you a blouse or skirt at the church, we go over to the fish shack down at the docks to fill your empty belly. Yeah, we get us some fried fish."
"You got it?" Severine asked. "Money for a meal, I mean."
"Money? I tol' you. She don't never know what they brung by. I sell a few things here and there whats I get my hands on. That's all there is to that!" Jane replied.
But was it to Severine's question? Severine kept asking herself this after they'd left the church and made their way down the narrow alleys toward the sea.
The fish shack was down at the docks near where the fishing boats came in. There, the man fried up the best of the catch what come in that morning. At the counter, Severine smiled and watched closely. The fish was good. It was rolled in cornmeal and fried right there. Got even better when he brought another plate of it. Jane grabbed pieces with her fingers. That man, he was black as night with broad shoulders. Jane called him Albin. He winked at her and she shot one back with a giggle. Severine and Jane left without putting no money on the counter. Well, well, Severine thought. Well, well indeed.
So, as the days hitched into weeks, Severine kept at 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 and nobody thinks a thing of it. Still, for now, what could matter for Severine beyond working through those piles of clothes? The smell of Jane's cooking could so easily bring the answer. Severine smiled even bent over her washboard, knowing that later, when Jane could get out, she'd bring a big plate of it back to the laundry house along with some bread. And sometimes even an apple. As the days followed, even the smell of the alley seemed to float beyond one of Severine's past lives.
4.
Those long days spent bent over a tub is the time to chase down your thoughts if only to beg them to repent. Anyway, there ain't nobody else to talk to but your shadow. Standing there in all the heat, Severine's thoughts kept following the same path: 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 hardly left her bedchamber. And didn't she also say her lady was blind and near deaf? So, what if the old woman kept things to herself? Don't all rich folks dwell on the other side of their secrets? Severine had only a dress and the things she'd picked up at the church with Jane. She wore that dress for days on end, and when she had it left in her, she'd stay up late to wash and iron them dry for the following day. And so her thoughts about Miss Marie rambled about but still got lost somewhere in her empty pockets; that dead end where she let fall all her unanswered questions.
Early one morning, when Severine had barely started her first tub, Jane flew in with a pile of laundry that she dropped at the laundry house door and disappeared back into the kitchen. But soon she returned with a big piece of buttered bread and a crock mug of coffee. Severine 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. A big one."
Severine smiled again, took another bite of her bread, and went back to her tub. It was another morning when thoughts of the canal all but floated away when her stomach was full. Still, she wondered. Why did the canal's driftwood always seem to disappear to a place nobody ever talked about?
But late afternoon came around, and yet Jane hadn't. Severine figured she'd forgotten and wandered off by herself. But then the back door opened, and Jane went to whistle as she swept off the stoop. That was her signal for Severine to dry her hands and get ready, as they'd soon be hightailing it off through the back gate and down the alley. Guess Miss Marie was lost somewhere in 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. We're gonna be taking off soon, you know."
"Taking off? Where to?" Severine asked. Taking off was another notion she'd wondered about as she'd long thought there was no place to take off to. Who'd told her that only a swamp 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 at your stumbling feet.
"Goin' to Natchez. I got a sister there. Yeah. 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, he say. Then one day, when we got enough saved up, we gonna get married. Yeah, that's what we been talkin'."
"How you gonna get there?" Severine asked. "If, like you say, the old lady don't pay you but scraps off her table."
"Oh, she pay me," Jane reminded Severine. "She just don't know how much." Jane chuckled and opened the burlap bag she was carrying for Severine to see. In there was a small smoked ham, a block of cheese that Severine could smell, and some red French pears. Other things were wrapped in tissue. Jane handed one to Severine and winked. Severine unwrapped a tiny bar of fancy soap.
"Where you sell these things?"
Severine held the soap to her nose. It smelled of French lavender oil.
"I show you," Jane replied. "On the way to the fish shack. Got me some ladies over that way who pay dear for what they brung by Miss Marie's. Like I told you, she don't never know what's missing, and she don't care none if she do. I give 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 in a week or two."
Jane's smile reached to the glint in her eyes; the sparkle that was always there when she mentioned Albin.
"The old lady don't know what's missing?" Severine asked incredulously.
"Her? No, she don't care none about food, do she? She don't 'cause she's white like you and 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 whisper to him 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 from Miss Marie's cupboard. And then came a day when it seemed as if Jane no longer invited Severine to come with her. Maybe that meant no more fish at the docks, Severine wondered. Still, she didn't think nothing of it. After all, Jane had shared how good Albin was, how hardworking, and her schemes for their lives together once they were married. She guessed that Jane, like any woman, needed to weave her dreams with her man alone. Still, she wondered if Albin really dreamed the same as Jane, as Severine sensed there was something broken between them despite their grins and winks. It was as when the truth is broken between two, and he can't seem to look you in the eyes because of it because you're gonna see what he done even if it's hidden at the bottom of his soul. Severine sensed it. No, the man couldn't look Jane in her worshipful eyes. But still, he could look into Severine's. There were moments when he looked so deeply into her eyes that she wondered if Albin was gathering her dashed thoughts. No, she thought, only the priest can do that. Do it for Jesus, he'd heard him once say.
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. Maybe nothing beyond keeping her head above the canal water. Well, perhaps from time to time, a fleeting dream of the day when she too might have a husband to dream alongside. A man whom she could give her virginity to. 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 herself a nice blouse before the other tub women got their hands on it. Maybe the kind a man might find pretty, one with mother-of-pearl buttons and maybe fancy topstitching. But always with 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 forever. But still… there was some beauty left. The rich French women had told Jesus there was so to get their hands on His Kingdom. But along the canal, things of beauty were always shorted for those who struggled. Severine fell asleep pondering these things and what the lace on the blouse may have looked like when it was new.
Then before the sun rose and Severine was still sound asleep, Jane came into the laundry house and shook her awake.
"Look! I got me a ticket for the coach to Natchez! The early one what gonna take the mail. Gonna leave in an hour," Jane said, waving her ticket in Severine's face. "Albin went and bought it yesterday. He say for me to go on ahead."
"What? Alone?"
Severine wondered if women were even permitted to travel alone. Perhaps only tub women.
"Albin, he gonna follow me when he gets his money. He say the boss man 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 then get things ready for Albin at my sister's. 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? Yes?"
"Yeah, maybe. But you stay till she do. It don't matter none. I seen her. Seen Miss Marie looking down at the laundry house when we's talking. She even saw me take food out the back door. I knows she has. You think she has?"
"You said she's near to being blind. So, she ain't seein' much of anything."
Jane laughed or tried to but it seemed to stumble in her throat.
"No, she ain't blind. Not for real, she ain't. She just don't see me 'cause I ain't like her. Anyway, why it matter? Who gonna dump her chamber pot when I'm gone from her for good and ain't never gonna come back?"
This time her laugh stymied at the back of her throat. Jane had been down the path to nowhere with Miss Marie, hadn't she? She'd walked it long enough, what with her sleeping on that rich woman's floor and all. It stuck in her craw maybe about as though 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 pulled back. At that, Severine felt that to Jane she was no better than the old lady simply 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 pile of worn garments the church had awarded her for being poor. Still, she'd found another old basket in the alley and put it aside for a rainy day. The next morning, she grabbed that basket and headed to the market to see what she could see 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 to her, when there might be clothes left for the poor.
At the market, Severine wandered 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. When the vendor looked the other way, she'd knock something to the ground and then quickly grab whatever landed at her feet. It was at the market that she ran into Albin. He came upon her with a big smile. Seemed like 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 beyond New Orleans. Still, she nodded in agreement.
"You shopping for that rich lady?" he asked.
"No. They bring things by. But Jane says she don't come down to look it over."
Albin glanced into Severine's basket and saw two small bruised apples and a 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. "Follow the squalls of them seagulls to the docks. 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," he said. "I show you the way. Then you know where to come when you want to eat my cookin'."
It seemed to Severine that Albin's smile had widened since she'd last seen the man, along with the glint in his eyes.
"You know, I done bought the fish shack," he remarked in passing.
"What?"
Severine wondered then when would Albin be joining his woman? Had she misunderstood Jane's musings about their lives together all along?
"Yeah, I finally got my hands on enough money to put a down payment on it. Yeah, I sure did, didn't I now?"
Albin took her basket, and they started off.
"You follow from behind me. Hear?" he added. "So, them Creole women don't say nothin' about you coming alongside a black man from the docks. You know how them bitches like to talk."
Severine fell back a few paces, and Albin went on whistling down to the end of the lane, where he pointed up ahead to 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 apples and filled her basket with this and that from under the counter. Each time he tossed something in, he tossed her a grin. Severine left with a full basket and a full stomach. As she walked back up the narrow lane, she was sure she could feel Albin's smile following her and turned to see if he might also be following her. But it was only his eyes that were. He stood at the counter and smiled again.
6.
At times, Severine lay awake at night wondering how long it would be before Miss Marie sent her packing. Maybe she was gonna get the law down on her like they did vagrants, she kept thinking. But that's not what happened.
It was late one night, a few days after Jane had departed. From the humidity, she couldn't sleep and stood at the washhouse door, looking up at the stars when she seemed to hear a garbled sound, a moan of sorts. Sounded as though it was coming from Miss Marie's open window up there. She heard it again. What if the old woman was sick? Even worse, what if she was dying and Severine was still in the laundry house when her time came? Would she be guilty? But of what? Severine reckoned that the poor are always guilty, and the rich never are. Aren't they the ones who built the jails merely to punctuate this fact?
Severine went across the garden to the kitchen door and found it unlatched. Inside, she looked about and again heard faint moans that she followed up the service stairs and down the long corridor to a door. Severine put her ear to it. The moans grew louder. Being frightened as to what may be on the other side of the door, she opened it cautiously. There she found Miss Marie sprawled on the carpet. Perhaps she'd fallen out of her bed. Severine went and carefully turned the old woman over onto her back.
"I'm Severine, Madame."
"But where's Jane?" Miss Marie stammered. "I told her to go fetch me a glass of water."
"Jane's gone. Days ago. Can you stand if I help you?"
Miss Marie struggled to get up. With Severine bracing her, she made it to her feet and back to her bed.
"I go fetch you a glass of water."
Severine sighed with relief as the old woman was not dead and went back down to the kitchen for the water. No, the law wasn't gonna be coming after no one. At least not Severine. At least not tonight, she thought.
7.
The next day, Severine awoke with what could have been her nightmare clinging to her thoughts. What would she do until she was bustled off? She wondered how long the food Albin gave her would last. And then where would she grab her basket and head to next? All over again, she could smell the canal where they emptied their chamber pots along with all the empty souls of poor women who'd lost hope of ever seeing a better tomorrow.
But the answer was there when she opened the laundry house door the following morning. At her feet was a small pile of clothes to launder. And two apples lying there on top. At first, she had a mind that Jane had returned. But no, Jane hated Miss Marie and said she'd never return. Severine put her sorted piles into a tub to soak and slipped the apples into her basket under the cot where it readied for the time she'd be driven back into the alley of no end.
The day was long, but the night would come to last the rest of her days. When the candle burned out, Severine put the iron aside and fell over her cot exhausted. How long had she slept when she woke to see a man standing in the 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."
Albin pulled off his shirt. His sweaty chest glistened in the moonlight.
"And she ain't never gonna get it."
This time Albin's grin jolted Severine. Leaving the door open to the hot night, he went over to the cot and cupped her mouth with his big hand which signaling his intent. Then he pushed her legs apart for it. It was more than a smile that he delivered this time.
There was nothing she could do even after the violation as Albin lay there snoring with Severine wedged tightly between him and the wall. 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 when the morning's sun streamed in through the open door blinding him, Albin got up . He rubbed his eyes, pulled on his clothes, and headed out with not 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 as if he was nearly twelve feet tall.
"You got that fish shack down there you just put money on. What it matter? Cause now you're gonna wake up to see burning hell. Soon. You know what I mean, huh, stupid man? 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 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 'cause you don't gotta a soul. Devil gots it and he's keepin' it in hell till you come calling for it!"
Miss Marie looked past Albin to Severine, with her hand covering her mouth to hold back shrieks of fear. Seemed like Miss Marie's words had also brought fear to Albin. His expression turned to a fearful stone and gone was his grin.
"Now you get off my property, stupid man, else I put the law on you and then one day they gonna find you floatin' down the canal to where them hungry gators is. Yep, you know how them gators love a good hog carcass, now don't they?"
Miss Marie laughed in Albin's face which made the big man feel like a child. He wiped his brow and walked around Miss Marie because this tiny woman wasn't gonna step aside for no stupid man. So, what were Miss Marie's other secrets? What else did she know? Well, Albin would soon be finding out what Jesus had whispered in her ear. With Albin disappearing back out into the dark alley, Miss Marie nodded to Severine, confirming that she knew the whole story with all its many untold blemishes.
"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 of you. Then come back down to the kitchen and put away the food what they brung by yesterday."
"Oui, Madame."
8.
Well, Severine did as Miss Marie bid and went up the service stairs from the kitchen. Next to the room Severine had found Miss Marie 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 the after-death out in the alley. Then she could stand there wondering what might come next for her. But for now, Severine decided to head back down to the kitchen. There she found Miss Marie picking over the baskets and parcels that had been delivered earlier. She appeared to have little interest in any of it and smiled when Severine entered the room again.
"First, you find yourself something to eat, child. Then you go to putting these things away."
Severine looked about the kitchen with all its half-open cupboards and shelves stacked with dry goods, jars, and tins.
"Put them where, Madame?"
"Where?"
"Why should it matter to anyone?" Miss Marie asked. "I done sent a message to a man. He's coming around to talk to me about some work I got for him. You be lookin' for him. When he arrives you may send him up. Theory is name. He knows."
"Oui, Madame."
Miss Marie started to leave but then turned to Severine.
"There are six bedchambers upstairs. You pick one that suits you. You will sleep there."
"You don't want me to go?" Severine asked.
"Why should you leave? Where would you go?"
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 as she waited for the man to arrive.
It was late that morning when he 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 Creole French, as he was dark-skinned and had the darkest blue eyes that almost appeared black. Maybe his long lashes hid a secret behind his eyes.
"Oui, Monsieur?"
"I am Theory. Miss Marie has work for me."
"She said for you to attend her upstairs."
Miss Marie's instruction seemed strange to Severine, as women in the Quarter did not meet men upstairs, day or night, other than their husbands. Therefore she wondered what his relationship to her was. He went up seemingly knowing which room beckoned. From down in the kitchen, Severine could hear his footsteps to Miss Marie's bedchamber, the room that looked down into the garden and beyond to the laundry house.
Severine was still sorting through all the bounty the vendors had delivered when the man came back down to the kitchen.
"I start tomorrow," Theory announced.
"Start, Monsieur?" Severine was puzzled.
"Tomorrow."
He grabbed a French pear from a large wooden bowl Severine had filled, along with one of the bottles of wine that she'd pulled from a wooden crate packed with sawdust. Theory glanced at the label.
"From France," he announced and smiled. He slid the bottle under his arm and headed to the door. There he paused and held up the bottle. "Miss Marie said." With that coda, he left. Severine was still learning how things were done in the Quarter.
It was growing late, and with nothing 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 for reasons that perhaps no one had dared to sort? Maybe. But then again…
Upstairs, Severine went down the long hall opening doors to bedchambers, all apparently kept as though guests were imminently expected. Perhaps Miss Marie had a large family. But then again perhaps she simply had hidden lives, such as this handsome man called Theory. Jane had said nothing on him, but then she'd said little about Miss Marie that stood. 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. Severine wondered, and if Jane slept on Miss Marie's floor, why did the old lady offer Severine her choice of bedchambers within the first few words they'd exchanged? In so many ways, the numbers didn't add up about the life in the big house. But then again, like so many tales that never stopped breathing in the Quarter, most things never did.
Door after door, Severine made her way to the end of the hall and finally opened one to a small room that was not as well appointed as the others. Could it once have been a maid's? She figured she'd sleep there until Miss Marie had decided what to do with her.
Severine fell over onto the down-filled bed. The sheets were soft as beaten linen and smelled like lavender. From under the pillow, her hand discovered a small sachet. It was filled with crushed French lavender flowers and cloves. The fragrance, so distant from those of the laundry house, intoxicated her. She fell asleep, where her dreams conveyed her to another place she'd never known or smelled before. Perhaps one where daydreams are tucked away with scented sachets and lavender grows in rows along gravel paths as it does in the South of France. But still, her basket was safely stowed under her now vacant cot for the day when her dreams might once again drift toward the canal.
9.
It was barely daybreak when Severine woke to hear men talking out on the street. She peeked through the curtains. Down there on the street was a big wagon drawn by four horses, the kind tradesmen use. She watched as the men headed to the back carrying sledgehammers. One was Theory, so she didn't worry much 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 laundry house. Their demonic swinging of sledgehammers frightened her as they went about their maniacal 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, where she nodded down to Severine. She then knew what Theory was doing. As the men carried the splintered wood out to the wagon, she again wondered about the secrets rich folks kept stashed for the right moment. But how did they know? Severine noticed that Theory didn't seem to see her until her stopped his pounding and gave her a slight smile that lingered.
Finally, she went back inside to boil an egg for Miss Marie and herself. She put extra butter on her egg and then glanced 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 wood remained. And yet strangely, the smell of Albin still seemed to linger in her nostrils and would remain unburied in her thoughts for some time.
10.
That evening, as she prepared a soup for Miss Marie and herself, gave Severine time to collect her colliding thoughts. How did Miss Marie come to know that Albin was not welcomed by his wife back at his place? And then how did she know of his wife even as Jane had not? Who came to tell Miss Marie the story, and why would they have? No, he'd been out late too many times, Miss Marie had shared at supper. Albin's wife stopped listening to his lies when he told her he'd been cleaning fish well into the night. This poor woman, Miss Marie declared, locked him out. That left Albin no other choice but to sleep on the ground of the fish shack. Down at the docks, it was cold when the winds swept in from the sea, and the ground was hard and greasy in the shack, but that never kept Albin from his sleep. He used a bag of cornmeal to rest his head on.
But then came the night Miss Marie had warned of. It was late when she tapped on Severine's door.
"Oui, Madame?"
"Get dressed, child. It is the time. We go now to light a candle."
Miss Marie genuflected.
"A candle, Madame?"
She walked away sans a reply. Severine heard Miss Marie's 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 peek out the curtain. There on the street awaited a livery carriage, the kind rich folks used in the Quarter.
At her townhouse's entrance, Miss Marie waited with two jars with candles. They were from the church; 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, it was thought. She handed one to Severine, and they went out to the carriage.
Inside the carriage, Miss Marie revealed little more. She sat quietly, as if reciting a rosary. Finally, Severine worked up enough courage to speak.
"I don't think the church doors are unlocked at this hour, Madame."
"This hour? But child, I find God without their clocks," she said. "Even now as we seek the one who will not be expecting us."
"Who, Madame?"
"The Devil. He will not be expecting us."
Miss Marie again genuflected and then clutched her rosary to her breast.
"Madame…?"
"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 will not expect us to level it on them. That is your weapon. You must see this."
But Severine couldn't, and the words did little to calm her fears as to what mystery was about to be revealed. There at the docks, Severine glanced out the window. Miss Marie did not. It was as if she knew what awaited. Severine hardly could have. Down at the end of the lane, the carriage halted, and at a distance close to the dock, there stood Theory along with his men waiting near the big wagon still loaded with the debris of the razed laundry house.
What were they doing over there? Severine asked Miss Marie, who held her head defiantly and yet remained silent. Yes, with her hands folded on her lap, Miss Marie sat quietly as if she was waiting for Mass to begin. She appeared to be unconcerned about anything at that strange hour.
Severine watched closely. Her eyes darted back and forth from Miss Marie's somber countenance to Theory, seemingly merely waiting. They seemed to communicate in the silence with only their eyes. But then, through the fog, the men went to unloading the broken boards and piled them at the front of the fish shack. But why were they so quiet? Who could they disturb? Only the sounds of the sea pounding at the dock pilings could be heard, along with a flock of angry seagulls early on the hunt for fish scraps that would later arrive with the fishing boats.
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. He went back around and bowed to Miss Marie, who was waiting at the street next to her carriage. There she stood twisting her rosary through her fingers. She finally took a deep breath and nodded. At that the men returned the gesture and departed in their empty wagon. With that Miss Marie reached into the carriage for the candles.
"Come, child. It's time we pay the Devil his due. We will send him back into hell for his transgression."
Severine looked confused.
"Why are we here, Madame?" She asked once again.
"Child, as I told you, we are powerless at the moment they do not fear us."
"But who? Who should fear us?"
"Come, follow me to the edge of hell. There we will gaze down into Hades and yet walk away with our souls."
Miss Marie lifted her rosary to her lips and kissed it. Confused, Severine followed Miss Marie, holding her lit candle.
"We will throw light in the Devil's face," she added. Her cape whipped in the wind. "And never again shall he return in the heavy dark. No, child. We will destroy his darkness with fire. Amen."
Miss Marie placed her lit candle in front of the pile of wood and kissed her rosary.
"Place the candle carefully at the base of the wood as though it is a desecrated altar dedicated to the Devil himself," Miss Marie exclaimed.
"A what, Madame?" The priests had long admonished the worshipful not to mention the Devil, as that would conjure his appearance in our thoughts.
"The Devil savors the red-hot flames, n'est-ce pas?"
Safe in the depths of the glass jar the candle ignored the wind and burned brightly. Miss Marie gestured for Severine to follow suit with the other candle. Severine's eyes followed Miss Marie's every move, and she too crossed herself.
"Come, child. We have completed our mission. God will bless us now and set fire to the Devil's dreams and so will drive him back into hell."
Through the wind, Severine followed Miss Marie back to the carriage but then heard the shattering of glass. She turned to see that the wind had blown the glass candle jars over along with their flames. At first, there arose a heavy smoke, but then fire spread rapidly through the splintered wood. The flames snapped and crackled as they raced up to the roof of the old fish shack. The acrid smoke choked the old lady and also drove the seagulls away. But the black crows, the very symbols of pending death, came to celebrate over the scraps they anticipated.
Severine stood with her hand over her mouth. Her eyes filled with tears from the smoke the wind blew at them.
"Don't fret, child. The Devil knows the flame. He is from hell."
She 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 hands draped over with her rosary as though egressing a Mass.
Albin ran out of the shack moments before the flames soared and the shack collapsed to ashes. He'd escaped hell but still, Miss Marie had served fire on him as she'd vowed. She turned back one last time to smile at the stupid man before entering her carriage.
Albin stood motionless, looking dazed and all so defenseless. But then he'd left his knife by the bag of cornmeal his head rested on, and it was also gone. So, now, as Miss Marie predicted, he could only feel the heat of hell cursing at his backside. But it would one day catch up with him and this time it would be Jane who smiled back at the stupid man.