Tell Me I'm Dreamin' (12 page)

“You know,” Madame Deane jumped in, “Ulysses used to be teased all the time about his skin color and his curly hair. It used to make him furious,” she told her. “And I know deep inside it hurt him more than anything else.”

“Yes. It always hurts when people ridicule and degrade things you cannot change,” Nadine confirmed. “I remember one conversation Grandma Rose and I had about my eyes. I was already having a hard enough time when the incident happened. Just about all the children would tease me.” Her lips turned up into a smile, although it wasn't a real one. “They called me the praying mantis because I was long and thin, and the color of my hair nearly matched my skin. But it was my large, hazel eyes, and the long periods of time my grandmother and I spent at church that had really earned me that name. My other features were merely icing on the cake,” Nadine continued.

“One particular day, several of the school bullies followed me without my knowing it. As usual, before going home from school, I went to my secret spot in the woods. It was springtime, and a couple of days before, I had managed to find a tree branch with butterfly cocoons attached to it.” This time Nadine smiled for real. “How excited I was at the prospect of watching the ugly caterpillars inside their shells, eventually turn into beautiful butterflies. And then to watch them fly up into the sky. Free! Free to experience the world, no longer hampered by their ugliness. It was just what I wanted to do,” she explained. “Well, I remember I didn't want to disturb the cocoons, so I lifted the branch oh so gently to have a closer look. Suddenly, a loud voice screamed, ‘Hey! Look! The praying mantis is gonna eat those cocoons. Let's take them away from her!' And before I could stop them the three boys had snatched the branch out of my hand. Two of them held me, while the third took the cocoons off of the branch. I remember screaming, ‘No! Please! They'll die!' and feeling as if my little heart was being crushed inside my chest.” She sort of laughed. “But one of the boys turned to me with this ugly look on his face, and said, ‘What does it matter to you? You're just an ole stick! You don't have a mother or father. Those people that you talk about in those pictures don't even know you. Just look at yourself. Does either one of them have those bug-colored eyes?'”

“No,” exhaled Madame Deane, her olive-leaf headband dipping a little too low.

“Yes, he did,” Nadine told her. “And boy, when he said that, this surge of anger and hurt came up in me like a roaring fire. I pulled away from the two who held me and hurled myself onto the boy who had said it. I started beating him like he had stole something.”

Madame Deane covered her mouth with her hand, almost laughing behind it.

“I sure did,” Nadine continued. “I mean I scratched and kicked as if my life depended on it—that is, until his friends pulled me away. Then I heard Grandma Rose calling my name, and they heard it too.” Her eyes got larger. “They ran away, but not before they attempted to smash the cocoons. When my grandmother found me I was holding the branch. It only had one cocoon on it. Somehow it had been spared.” Nadine paused. “Of course, when I saw Grandma, a new crop of tears started to fall, and I told her what the boys had said. Grandma just shook her head, sat down beside me in the forest, and put her arm around me.

“‘Look, honey,'” she said. “‘Don't you worry about what people say. I love you, and in her way your mama does too. And as far as your eyes go, there have been stories passed down in our family that some folks say originated on an island called Barnado. It talked of a child who would be born with the proof of her ancestry in her eyes. She would be important to all humankind. Who knows,' Grandma Rose shrugged, ‘perhaps that child is you.' She looked deep into my eyes, then she said, ‘And you know what else?' I remember shaking my head. ‘With us Black folks here in America and our history, it's hard to tell what color a baby is going to be, or what he or she might look like. You know, it's like throwing a couple of dice, all kinds of combinations are possible.'”

“I like that,” Madame Deane exclaimed, a subtle gleam in her eyes. “And you know what? It is kind of interesting how you and my nephew are somewhat alike when it comes to dealing with prejudice, even from your own people.” She straightened her headband. “It is a shame how we allow color, and different physical characteristics, to separate us.” Madame Deane looked down at the entree Catherine was placing before her. “From the very beginning we knew it was going to be hard for Ulysses' parents, but what can you say when two people are in love.” She raised her thin hands expressively. “Ulysses is definitely a combination of the two. He was named by my brother, and that's where he got all of his charm.” She smiled reminiscently. “But he took his height and some of his color from Layla. She was an Egyptian. There are very few on the island, but there are several African families. Ashanti. Ibo. A lot of the slaves who ended up on Barbados were from those tribes. Most of them are spiritual, peaceful people.” Madame Deane paused. “Boy, was she fiery.” She spoke with her fork and knife suspended in the air as she conjured up images from the past. “I am talking about Layla. And she was beautiful too. Her skin was a shiny, dark brown. Her ancestors were among a group of Africans brought here from Barbados as slaves. That was hundreds of years ago.” She placed a small amount of food in her mouth and chewed pensively. “Slavery was ingrained in our culture. But by the time my grandfather took over Sovereign, slavery had been abolished. Still, on some of the estates you wouldn't have known it. And the folks here on Eros had been operating independent of the mainland for decades, so it was like a separate country. But my grandfather was determined to treat the African families that had been connected with Sovereign as fairly as he could. I'm not saying he didn't have his prejudices.” Madame Deane waved her fork. “Inevitably that meant my brother Peter and I grew up with a different mind-set about them than most of the islanders,” Madame Deane continued to explain.

“My brother was always a true art lover, just like his son. Rare things of beauty always intrigued him.” She patted her wrinkled lips with a napkin. “One day he spotted Layla in some woods that edge our secluded beach. He said from the very first moment he saw her he knew she was the most beautiful woman he had ever seen. Her beauty captured him, but he said the way she was acting roused his curiosity. You see, Layla kept looking over her shoulder as if she didn't want to be seen. Peter said she appeared to be very scared, so he hid himself and continued to watch her. Finally, when she felt secure she was alone, Layla removed two stones near the edge of the woods and began to dig. In no time at all Peter said she unearthed this magnificent bust. He said the sun reflected off of it like gold as she held it in her hands.” Madame Deane gazed off as if she too were looking at the scene. “Peter said seeing her hold it with such reverence was a work of art within itself, and out of pure excitement and overwhelming curiosity he came out of his hiding place. From what he knew about the African workers, he had expected her to flee or cower with fright. But not Layla. Peter said she pulled herself up to her fullest height and looked him dead in the eye, claiming the piece as her own. Her stance dared him to challenge her.” Madame Deane's eyes sparkled with pride. “He said he could barely understand a word Layla was saying she was so excited, but he said her gestures were plain and clear. At that point Peter did his best to reassure her that he had no intention of taking the bust from her, and he expressed his appreciation for its beauty. He said they stood there staring at each other for a long time, and that Layla would not leave until he left. After that, for several days around the same time he revisited the spot where he had seen her, but she never came. Then finally Layla showed up again, and to his surprise she told him she had secretly watched him each time he visited the spot. It was only after the third time he had come, and had not tried to dig up the bust, did she feel she could trust him.

“Yes,” Madame Deane's eyes clouded over with sad acceptance, “from that point on their visits together became the highlight of their days. Eventually people knew they had developed some kind of relationship, but none of the islanders expected Peter would ever marry Layla. But being the kind of man my brother was, he did. For a while they were really happy. I hate to say it,” she looked down at the food that was getting cold, “but they were happier after Father died. He really did not approve of the marriage. He knew the problems they would encounter. Then Ulysses was born, and their lives seemed so fulfilled, for a while.” Madame Deane paused as the ghostly images took over.

“He was seven years old when it happened. Ulysses had been beaten pretty badly by some older boys on the island, and Layla decided to take the matter up with their parents. Unlucky for her, two of the fathers were drinking together at the first home where she stopped. Instead of listening to what she had to say, they turned it into an opportunity to take advantage of her. From what I heard they did all sorts of horrible things. Then they brought her battered body and left it on one of the paths that led to Sovereign. My brother found her, and in his grief he stabbed himself in the heart. Sad to say Ulysses was the one who found the two of them. The crime went unpunished because we were never able to prove who did it.”

“How awful!” Nadine's heart went out to Ulysses, and she looked up at the ceiling, picturing him locked inside his room.

“Here on Eros we have such a blend of the awful and the sublime, the old and the new. And it is only because of the recent tourist trade that things have changed as much as they have. It is a place rich in myths born out of ancient cultures.”

“Yes, the cliff dwellers appear to be living proof of that.” Nadine studied Madame Deane's expression as she mentioned the name that had sent Ulysses into an unexplained rage. But madame showed no feelings at all as she took the conversational tidbit offered by her dinner guest.

“They are definitely an interesting people. Theirs is the oldest culture on the island. Their settlement sits among the cliffs on the far east side. Can you believe they actually live beneath cliff overhangs and in shallow caves?” She leaned forward. “Personally, I've never seen their houses. But of course the entire island knows about them, and Ulysses has visited them many times.” She pushed the cold pastry and sea eggs around on her plate. “It was not always the way it is now. I heard in the beginning their ancestors came here from a sunken continent that was located in the western part of the world. It was called Lemuria. They chose to make their homes among the caves and cliffs, and later, when outsiders inhabited the island, they tried to become more a part of the island community. At first they were well accepted. It is said they were a very demonstrative and expressive people, and because of this, they brought harmony and rhythm to the island of Eros. The outsiders began to enjoy their lives in ways they never had before, and before anyone realized it, the cliff dwellers were looked up to as leaders.

“Soon the islanders found out that they were very different from the cliff dwellers. Not just in looks and the sort of things that are obvious. But something,” Madame Deane looked up in the air, “something less tangible. You see, the cliff dwellers believe in following what they call their inner voices. They call this voice the Will. Also they believe their bodies hold a sort of awareness, maybe consciousness would be a better word. It is not just flesh and blood.” She examined her own hands as she explained.

“To the islanders the cliff dwellers appeared to be so much more attuned to their emotions than they were, and for hundreds of years the outsiders' gods and goddesses were the only deities they believed in and worshipped. Therefore the outsiders' nature was much more cautious, mainly because they did not want to offend the gods. In contrast, the cliff dwellers tended to heed their own callings from within. Eventually the two found it very hard to get along. The islanders began to fear the gods and goddesses would find the cliff dwellers offensive, and thereby bring death and destruction to the island. It took many generations, but eventually the cliff dwellers were ostracized and driven back to the caves. Then, for reasons unknown, the outsiders disappeared from Eros.”

Nadine thought about the things Madame Deane had told her, and she realized how different she was from the people of Eros with their mystical tales.

Madame Deane had barely touched her food, she had talked so much during the meal. Nevertheless when Catherine came to remove Nadine's empty plate, madame insisted she take hers as well.

“Well, young lady. I have some reading I would like to do before I retire for the night. I really regret that Ulysses did not show up this evening. He knows the book sale is scheduled for the end of the month, and we really need to get started organizing it. There is so much that needs to be done.” She maneuvered her wheelchair away from the table. “Poor thing, I know he has feelings against it”

Shocked, Nadine asked, “You mean you plan to sell the books in the collection upstairs?”

“My word, child, no,” Madame Deane replied. “We have an entire slew of books and other things in an antechamber below the house. We will be selling them. We have a real need for money right now.” She looked discreetly at Nadine, and began to almost whisper. “Not that we're broke or anything like that. Ulysses just hates it when I talk about financial situations with what he calls outsiders. He says he doesn't want me to worry about money.” She gave a long deep sigh. “I just wish I could be of more help to him.” A thin hand absentmindedly fiddled with her headband. “I wish that you were staying longer, Nadine. You did say your business involves literature and art, didn't you?”

“Yes, I did.” Nadine was pleased with this opportunity to tell the truth.