Oppressed by Kira Saito Read Free Book Online Page A

You’ll stay for the comfort and security but you’ll be
bitter and angry. You’ll have a couple of babies and they’ll be
bitter and angry and the cycle of anger and bitterness will
continue.”
    “ What will happen to Lucus
and Louis?” I whispered.
    He shrugged. “It doesn’t
matter.”
    “ It doesn’t matter?! Of course
it matters. What’s my other choice?”
    “ You dance with the unknown,
regardless of how uncomfortable it will make you. Seek the truth
and face your fears.”
    “ Hmmm… Have a couple of bitter
babies with Tony or face the painful unknown. You’re not giving me
much of a choice.”
    “ You always have a
choice.”
    I bit my nails, stared at the filthy
floor, and considered my options. Was it better to live in sweet
denial or fight for the truth? I thought about all the people who
had fought for the truth, great people like Ghandi, Lennon, JFK and
Marley. What had become of them? They had been either murdered or
had died young and rather mysteriously. Had they ever regretted
their decisions? Had they ever wished they just kept their mouths
shut and remained submissive to the wrongs they saw in the world?
Did I want to live my life with blinders on just because it was
convenient? No, not really.
    “ I want to meet her,” I
said, as I stood up. “I want to meet her. I need to know what she
has to say. Introduce us. Please.”
    Papa Legba laughed and continued to
play his guitar until the music became louder and louder. “Close
your eyes,” he said. “The gateway is awaitin’.”
    “ Gateway? What
gateway?”
    He ignored my questions and continued
to play his guitar. “Close your eyes and follow the music. She’s
been waitin’ at the gateway for an awfully long time. Follow the
music.”
    I closed my eyes and did as he said.
The music swirled around me and intertwined its hands with mine. It
was ferocious, bittersweet and absolutely seductive. I gave myself
over to it completely and felt myself drift further and further
away…
     
     
     
     
     
     

Chapter Seven
    Heathens, Gens de Couleur Libres, and Cecile
LaNuit
    Congo Square
    New Orleans , 1852
     
     
    When my eyes opened I was no
longer myself, but someone named Cecile LaNuit. I knew it was 1852,
I was seventeen years old, a gen de couleur libre (free person of color) and I lived in
the most glorious, romantic and magical city in the entire world.
An elegantly crafted green dress made out of the finest taffeta and
lace caressed my smooth honey-colored skin, lace gloves rested on
my rather tiny hands, and a heavy black cape provided warmth
against the cool autumn wind.
    The air was thick and smoky with the scent
of manure, pralines, rotten vegetables, burnt tar, and sweet
rebellion. I tossed my head back, let out a carefree laugh and
began to move my feet. My hair unraveled from the bun I had
arranged it in and cascaded down to my waist in thick loose black
waves. Around me, drums of all shapes and sizes filled the air with
their savage, hypnotic rhythm and mingled with the melody of
banjos, jawbones, violins and triangles.
    It was Sunday, which was my
favorite day. It was the only day out of the week in which people
of all races, ages and classes forgot their differences and let
the les
mysteries seduce them into ever-elusive unity. Slaves, gens de couleur
libres, and
white people came together in Congo Square to either watch or
participate in the slave dances- which were actually cleverly
disguised mass Voodoo ceremonies- and simply let the infectious
energy seep into their bones.
    Unlike the rest of the country,
which was segregated rigidly into black or white, Louisiana was the
only state that allowed these colors to blend together, thus
producing a culture which to the rest of the States seemed like an
abomination. However, in my eyes it was simply magnifique !
    Around me
half- naked
slaves adorned with ribbons, bells, and shells formed large circles
and moved their hips to the music while curious spectators clapped
and