The Revenge
historical thriller
adapted from the screenplay
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 never stopped 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 descent in the Quarter? Most even knew enough French to argue their claims convincingly. Still, there are tales to be told in all dialects.
Time and circumstances of her life drifted until Severine found herself driven 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 sun. And then wouldn't that rag serve to conceal her beauty from the men who strayed? When she noticed their eyes following, she'd tug her scarf down and wrapped the ends around her mouth and long neck. Disappearing was one way to survive those dark narrow streets.
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 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 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 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, what in her final days and those that followed would become of her jeunes filles, Marbella and Petite Mere? It haunted Severine's every thought until it became a living nightmare. Could she silence the ticking of time long enough to glimpse what might lay 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. Still, what if blessings truly come to those most in need as the priest promised? And yet the days pounding on her exhaustion only suggested the priest was wrong.
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 that strong will to survive. Perhaps she took after her maman. 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 got there? Not through the din of desperation of those crowding the edges of the canal. Desperation can plunge you over the embankment and into the brackish water when there's no other place waiting for you. Quickly, and without one last thought, drop yourself over the edge, Severine kept thinking and then breathe in the black water before you can smell it, and all will be over. The voices in her head told her so, and when she tried not to hear, they only spoke louder. Was your final stumble to the edge of darkness because they couldn't hear your stomach growling? It never stopped cutting through her thoughts. But they won't hear your splash either, echoed back. To escape these ruminations, there were places where Severine let her thoughts wander. But just as quickly, she'd turn and head in another direction as thoughts of a better place can make the pain sting greater. Still, the voices follow; always there and always growing louder. Let the chains of shame drop off as leaving one's past behind is one way, perhaps the only way, to survive. 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's gonna do it because there's nothing there. Maybe that's a blessing. Count them when you see them, but then double the numbers when you can''t. It's not always easier having no history, no recollections of past lives, but then again, no pain 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 for peace. You keep wondering; how long will it take after the water folds over my head and my life falls to the currents? Tick, tick, tick slowly goes the hourglass, and it's starting to rhyme with the rumblings in my head. "Jump!", the voice rings between your thoughts. Painlessness is only a step away. Jump. And the ticking in your 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 is the edge of everything? Can I even get close enough? How long are the voices' lies? So, then what if they're longer than my prayers? Jesus, where are you in all this darkness that won't stop following me?
One morning, long before Jesus gave her Marbella and Petite Mere, Severine wandered far from the alleys 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 clung to the hope 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 that kitchen window she'd never come upon before, and yet, still held hope she'd pass by come one day. If she was blessed by 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. Alas, there was little else but thoughts of the canal. Severine's thoughts kept jumping ahead of her as if [J1] they aimed to trip her over the edge.
Then Severine saw a tub woman when she stepped into the alley to dump her tub water. The woman motioned to her.
"Hey, you are 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 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 though they were stains running down my threadbare dress. The stains of sin. But this Black 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.
"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 in there. I feed you," she repeated. The last time Severine heard her for real.
Severine had no plans for the day, and her hopes had already gone looking for the canal. She followed the woman over to the wash 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 washhouse window, her vision blurred as if it was 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!"
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 could work 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 fell over onto the cot. "Put your fears aside," the voice that shadowed her whispered, "the canal will always be there." 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 by prayers to redeem your soul.
"Right here," the tub woman said. "You sleep here. Ain't nobody gonna bother you in this here washhouse. When I 'member, I come out at night and latch the gate to the alley. The 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.
3.
Severine realized she'd gotten through the day and so invited 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 she worked 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.
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 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 flicker went out, did they convey the prayers of the suffering to Jesus as the priest claimed? Maybe he lied. Else why am I still here? she wondered, even as the canal still smiles for my attendance?
"Yeah, you come," Jane said again. "Today, they hand out clothes. Things them fancy French women don't want no more. Them fancy clothes 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."
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.
"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 say she's a kept woman. Don't know, do I? But I sure ain't seen no man 'round. Nope. 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.
"Then why you stay with her?" Severine asked.
"Like I tol' you, she gots food. They brings 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?"
"You name it. 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 'round 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 docs 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. 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?
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. There at the counter Severine smiled and watched. 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. It was a black man, one tall with broad shoulders, called Albin. He winked at Jane 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, the following week, 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 'round and nobody thinks a thing of it. What mattered beyond working through those piles of clothes? The smell of Jane's cooking easily brought the answer. Severine knew that later, when Jane could get out, she'd bring a big plate of it back to the wash house along with some bread. And sometimes an apple.
4.
Long days spent bent over a tub is the time to chase down your thoughts, as there ain't nobody else to talk to but yourself. You keep asking, 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 also say her lady was blind and deaf? So, maybe the old woman kept secrets. Don't all rich folks dwell safely on the other side of their secrets? Severine wondered. She had a dress and a few things she'd picked up at the church with Jane. She wore them 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 rambled on…
Early one morning, when Severine had barely started her first tub, Jane flew in with a pile of laundry, which she dropped at the washhouse door, and quickly walked 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. 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 like the canal's driftwood.
But late afternoon came around, and yet Jane hadn't. Severine figured maybe she'd forgotten and wandered off by herself. But then 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 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. But why thus? One mustn't disturb the secrets. The thought never seemed to stop piercing Severine's thoughts.
"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 where to?" Severine asked. Taking off was another notion she'd never held 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. 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."
"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 apples. 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. French lavender.
"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. And she don't never know what's missing and she don't care none when she do. No, she sure don't. 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 forever."
"The old lady don't know what's missing?" Severine asked incredulously.
"Her? No, she never had an empty belly in her life. 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 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 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 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 Jane 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 the grins and winks. Like when the truth is broken between two, and he can't seem to look you in the eyes because of it. Severine sensed it. No, the man couldn't look Jane in her worshipful eyes. Still, he could look into Severine's. There were moments when she wondered if he was gathering 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, a fleeting dream of the day when she too would have a husband to dream alongside of. 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 what with mother-of-pearl buttons and maybe 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. Along the canal, things of beauty were always shorted 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 gonna take 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 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 says. 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 wash house when we's talking. She even saw me take food out the back door. 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, why it matter? Who gonna dump her chamber pot when I'm good and gone?"
This time her laugh stymied at the back of her throat. Jane knew the path to nowhere, didn't she? She'd walked it long enough what with her sleeping on that rich woman's floor and all, and it stuck in her craw. About 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 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. Still, she'd found another old basket somewhere 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 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. When the vendor looked away, 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. I peeked in the window this morning. 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," he said. "I show you. Then you know where when you want to eat my cookin'."
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.
"What?"
Severine wondered then when would Albin 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. Yes, I sure did."
Albin took her basket and they started off.
"You follow behind. Hear?" he added. "So, them Creole women don't say nothin' about you coming alongside."
Albin 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 and a smile. Albin's smile followed her.
6.
At times Severine lay awake at night wondering how long it would be before Miss Marie sent her packing. Maybe she 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 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. 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 reckoned that the poor are always guilty, and the rich never are. Aren't they the ones who built the jails for others?
She went across the garden to the kitchen door and found it unlatched. She'd never been in the kitchen. As she looked about, she again heard faint moans and followed them up the service stairs and down the long corridor to a 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. "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 wasn't 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 tonight.
7.
The next day, Severine awoke with her nightmare still clinging to her thoughts. What would she do today? 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 dumped their chamber pots along with the empty souls; those poor women who'd lost hope of ever seeing a better tomorrow.
But the answer was there when she opened the washhouse door the following morning. At her feet was a small pile of clothes to launder. And two apples laying 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 her tub to soak and then slipped the apples into her basket under her cot where it readied for the time she'd be driven back into the alley of no end. The one from whence she came.
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 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.
"And she ain't never gonna get it."
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. 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. 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 Albin got up when the morning's sun streamed in through the open door blinding him. He rubbed his eyes and pulled his clothes on and headed out 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 as if he was near twelve feet tall.
"You got that fish shack down there you just put money on. What it matter now? Cause you gonna wake up to see hell one night. 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 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, hey stupid man? Devil got it. He keepin' in hell!"
Miss Marie looked past Albin to Severine 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. His face went cold with sweat.
"Now you get off my property, stupid man, else I put the law on you and then 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, don't they now?"
Miss Marie laughed out loud 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 be finding out what Jesus had told her.
"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 on up and clean the smell of that fish man off you. Then put away the food what they brung by earlier."
"Oui, Madame."
Well, Jane was long 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.
8.
Severine did as Miss Marie bid and went upstairs. 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 out the after-death in the alley. Then she could stand there wondering what might come next. But for now, Severine decided to head back down to the kitchen. There she found Miss Marie looking over the baskets and parcels that had been delivered earlier.
"First, you eat, child. Then you go to putting these things away."
"Put them where, Madame?" Severine looked about the kitchen with all its half-open cupboards and shelves stacked with dry goods, jars and tins.
"Where?"
"Why does it matter?" Miss Marie asked. "I done sent a message to a man. He's coming 'round to talk to me about some work I got for him. You be lookin' for him. When he comes 'round, you send him up. Theory is name. He knows."
"Oui, Madame."
"There are six bedchambers upstairs. You pick one that suits you."
"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.
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 Creole French as he was dark-skinned and had the darkest blue eyes that almost appeared black. His long lashes hid the secret. But only one of them.
"Oui, Monsieur?
"I am Theory. Miss Marie has work for me."
"She said 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. He went up where he seemingly knew which room. From down in the kitchen, Severine could hear his footsteps to Miss Marie's bedchamber which looked down into the garden and beyond to the laundry house.
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.
"Start, Monsieur?" Severine was puzzled.
"Tomorrow." He grabbed a French pear from a large wooden bowl Severine had just filled along with one of the bottles of wine that she'd pulled out of a wood 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."
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. Perhaps Miss Marie had a large family. But then again perhaps she simply had hidden lives. Jane had said nothing on it, 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. 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 didn't add up. But then again, like so many tales that never seemed to stop breathing in the Quarter, they never do.
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 have once been the 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 wash 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 vacant cot for the day when the dreams faded away.
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. 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 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. She then 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 stashed for the right moment. Theory didn't seem to notice Severine.
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 would remained. And yet strangely the smell of Albin still lingered in her nostrils.
10.
Preparing a soup for Miss Marie and herself that evening gave Severine 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 the story and why would they have? No, he'd been out late too many times, Miss Marie had shared. 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 floor of the fish shack. Down at the docs it was cold, and the ground hard and greasy but that never kept Albin from his sleep. He used a bag of cornmeal to rest his head on.
Late one night, Miss Marie tapped on Severine's door.
"Oui, Madame?"
"Get dressed, child. It is time. We go now to light a candle."
Miss Marie genuflected.
"A candle, Madame?"
But she walked away sans a reply. Severine heard Miss Marie's footsteps fade on the old creaking floor. Severine's thoughts tossed about as she grabbed her clothes. Given the hour, perhaps Miss Marie was, as Jane had warned, a little doddering. Still, Severine grabbed her clothes and glimpsed through the curtain. There on the street awaited a carriage.
At the 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. She handed one to Severine and they went out to the carriage and departed.
Inside the carriage, Miss Marie revealed little more.
"I don't think the church doors are unlocked this hour, Madame."
"But child, I find God everywhere," she said. "Even now as we seek the one who will not be expecting us."
"Who be that, Madame?"
"The Devil. He will not be expecting us."
Miss Marie again genuflected.
"Madame…?"
"You see, 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 it to leveled on them. That is your weapon. Can't you see?"
But Severine couldn't and the words did little to calm her fears as to what was about to transpire.
There at the docks Severine glanced out the window. Miss Marie did not. It was as though she knew what awaited. Severine hardly could have. At a distance from the carriage stood Theory with his men waiting alongside the big wagon still loaded with the debris of the razed wash 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.
Severine watched closely. Her eyes darted back and forth from Miss Marie's somber expression to Theory's. Through the fog, the men went to unloading the broken boards and piled them around 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.
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 waited at the street. There she stood twisting her rosary through her fingers. She 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 violation."
Severine looked confused.
"Why are we here, Madame?" She asked once again.
"Child, as I told you, we are powerless at the very 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 at hades and yet walk away with our souls."
Severine followed Miss Marie holding her lit candle.
"We will throw light in the Devils 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 our fire."
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 Devil savors the red-hot flames, n'est pas?"
Deep in 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 and she, too, crossed herself.
"Come, child. We have completed our mission. God will now bless us and set fire to the Devil's dreams. It will drive him back into hell."
Severine followed Miss Marie back to the carriage but then heard the shattering of glass. She turned to see that the wind had blown over the jars with their glowing candles. 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 drove the seagulls away. But the black crows, symbols of 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 folded as though egressing a Mass.
Albin ran out of the shack moments before the flames soared and the shack fell to ashes. He'd escaped hell once more but still Miss Marie had served on him fire as she'd vowed. She turned back one last time to smile at the stupid man before entering her carriage.
Albin stood looking dazed and all so defenseless. But then he'd left his knife by the bag of cornmeal, and it was gone too. So, now, as Miss Marie predicted, he'd feel the heat of hell cursing at his backside with no defense. But it would all one day catch up with him.
Life takes many revenges. Severine had witnessed but one. There would be many more to come. She could not hope to survive them all.
recognizes
The Revenge
THE SCREENPLAY
recognizes
The Revenge
S C R E E N P L A Y
(as Another Color)