He moved quickly into the room, sauntering over the bed before he rested firmly onthe edge. Then he would look at me, through me. His eyes translucent, like a cat watchingme in the night. I would shiver and pull the covers to up to my chin.
“Travel with me,” he would say.
I shook my head with disgust, like an old maid who hated sex. I didn’t want to do it.I didn’t want to do anything for him. It made me feel bad; it brought up too manyemotions, too much pain. Why did he do this to me, night after night? I glared at him inthe darkness, wishing that he would just go away. I felt helpless, like there was nothingthat I could do.
I laid back down the pillow. I felt Nico’s hands as he firmly pressed them against mythroat. I couldn’t breathe. Oh my goodness. I couldn’t breathe. He pressed harder on mythroat until my eyes rolled into the back of my head. Was this death?
I saw an image of white hands. They were my hands. They were crossed and restingon a podium.
“Do you understand your sentence?” a man asked from his bench. He was wearing apowdered white wig, along with a black robe.
“Yes,” I answered meekly, looking at the dozens of faces in the pews who chatteredincessantly. I could hear what they were saying. They all thought that I was a fool. I wasa direct descendant from the Spanish Crown, born with wealth, privilege and beauty. AndI defied God and his laws by fraternizing with Indians and freeing slaves.
There was a docket of twelve proceedings. Each of us was a member of a secretclandestine society that freed and healed slaves. We were all tried and found guilty ofpracticing witchcraft.
Dozens of people sat on the witness stand. They accused us of witchcraft, ofplanning slave revolts, of sorcery, of black magic. They spoke of accounts of slavesbuying their freedom, not understanding how they could get money to do such a thing.They spoke of landowners being killed by herbs, plants, and magical dusts. They spokeabout trances and dances that evoked evil spirits. “It’s brujeria.” They all spat.
I looked over at the Griot who was seated in the witness stand. He came to theislands as a slave, beaten and chained. He had watched his only brother take his life, andhe vowed that he would change his fate and that of others. I remember him telling mestories about Africa and all the ancient wisdom that was hidden there. He told me aboutthe universe, that it was vast and infinite. He spoke about how the dead really weren’t thedead. He taught me how to work with them. He taught me how to communicate withnature to heal others and myself.
We developed a father daughter relationship that no one could understand, except formy husband. He understood everything. I blinked back tears as he looked at me. PedroJuan was seated on his lap and sucking on his fingers. He rested his beautiful deep greeneyes on me and smiled widely, revealing a mouth with just gums and two teeth. Heflapped his little arms around him and crooned excitedly like a bird, gliding in the wind. Icouldn’t hold back my tears anymore. I looked at the old man and he reassured me that hewas going to be okay. He would be looked after and well taken care of. I closed my eyesand prayed for strength.
I was escorted outside. I held my head up high, my spine was hard and stiff, and Iwas as regal as an Egyptian Queen. I was led outside, where a gaggle of people tugged onmy dress, and yanked my hair so hard; I could feel strands of it being ripped from myscalp. I looked at their faces. I recognized a great deal of them. What will they do now? Ithought to myself. Where will their slaves go to heal themselves? Who is going to cureillness and provide remedies to the poor and the sick? I shook my head and surrenderedto my fate. I knew that it wouldn’t be long before the Spanish crown met its demise. Onechild spit in my face.
“Burn in Hell demon,” he spat.
Two men were holding my arms and I couldn’t wipe the spit off of my face. Instead,it dribbled down to my chin, and trickles of it seeped into my mouth. I was sick, from thetaste and the smell. I was pushed forward and led to a dirt-paved arena. Thousands ofpeople watched as I was bombarded with grit and cursed at for being a witch, a devil, anda demon that had sex with evil spirits and Indians.
Powerful winds moved in. Tresses of my long, black, silky hair fanned around myface. The bodice of my dress hung loosely around my breast. My chemise was wet andsoiled. The garnitures of ribbons on the hem of my dress unraveled and coiled around thelower parts of my legs. A gust front began to blow dry dust and loose sand, stinging myeyes and clouding my sight. The wind blew the dress high above my legs, the long fabricflapped, like a kite blowing in the wind. I looked up at the sky. It was twilight, and it wastime for me to die.
I was pushed forward and forced into a chair with a high backrest. It was made ofhard wood with triangular shape feet, with splinters that dug deep into my flesh. The twomen slammed my
