Truth under the Moon
How did everything turn for the worst? It was just simple playfulness, simple mischievousness. It wasn’t supposed to escalate and end up like this. There was no need for trials, tortures, and execution; not for something so basic, not for something so natural. Now here we are, at the end of the road, and I have no choice but to see it all unfold before my eyes. It almost feels like a dream, like it didn’t actually happen…but it had. I am living proof of it.
I am soaking the decrepit wet smell of the prison they are withholding me. The stench of disease and death clings to what is left of my slave garments. There is not much left of it anyways. The skirt is already above my knees all dirty and shredded. I have no shoes on my feet. The dampness of the night creeps inside my bare feet soles and gains access to my soul. Makes me cold. I hug my body close to me trying to evade the rapid creeping coldness, but there is no use. It is already inside me. I shut my eyes tight trying to forget my surroundings. But then the memories come flooding back like the savage ocean that knows me so well. Memories that I want to forget. Memories that have me trapped and frozen inside myself, like the shy turtle hiding inside its shell when it senses danger approaching. That’s who I am, a shy turtle trying to hide from the chaos, a chaos…that was my own doing.
***
It was the dark evening of the year 1692 when things started to go wrong for me…and my kind. I was deep in the forest dancing and singing at the top of my lungs to the sky. I danced and danced in circles around the bonfire we had prepared, my girls and me. The girls, the girls from the family that I served, Parris, and the others. Young girls from most of the Salem village. We were all here singing and dancing at the moon. We had a fire started, for it was midnight and it was freezing cold outside. Each of the girls had brought with them what I instructed. They enjoyed it when we did small ceremonies like this, secret ceremonies. This night it was a ceremony for love. I had taught the girls the words, the language of the night, of the shadows, of the moon. The right words to connect with the darkness that most men didn’t acknowledge and few women possessed. The words that would give life to their most inner desires.
That’s why the ceremony, the ritual, need it a token. They had to bring a piece of anything that would represent the man they wanted. This token must have the essence of the man they desired. He had to either had touched it, looked at it, or had been in the possession of this for the ritual to work. After we did our initial dance moves the girls brought the tokens to me and I did a quick and simple blessing.
“Nights spirits hear my voice, hear what these girls and I ask of you. Fill the hearts of these men with lust and love for them. This I ask of thee in the name of the Night. So mote it be!”
“So mote it be!” the girls said in unison. I gave the tokens back to each one of them. They placed the required kiss on the item and threw them in the fire. The flames answered to my call, to my blessing, to the girls. It became alive and its flames danced higher and higher trying to reach the sky. The girls and I began our dance ritual; moved and influenced by the heat and pleasure of the fire, and the shadows surrounding us. We jumped and jogged around the fire, embracing its heat flames, and being excited by this, our clothes started to drop to the floor. There was no girl around with their garments on their bodies. We were dancing naked under the night sky, under the magnificent moon.
***
I hear steady footsteps getting closer. I open my eyes and look around me. There is no much to see in today’s moonless night. I wrap my garments as best as I can around my legs and wait. I listen attentively for the footsteps again, but they seemed to have been swallowed by the dark and cold of the village. There are other sounds around me that don’t help me concentrate on the heavy steps. Hushed coughs from the few women that were in prison with me blurred the noise that I was intently to catch. I scanned my surroundings one more time in an attempt to see the pestering little woman and will her to shush. It was futile.
I lay my head to the frigid stone wall behind my back and shut my eyes again. I do not fight the memories that rush through my head. They are the bitter reminder of my own guilty soul.
***
The next day, the girls that are under my care wake up sweaty, weak, and with no will in their bodies. I tended to them as best as I could. I would get water from the bathtub that was filled for their bath, but they were so weak that they could not stand. I would go and fill a bucket until it was overflowing with water and brought it back to their chamber. With a small piece of cloth, I would soak up their fever sweats and dunk it into the fresh and cool water in an attempt to rid them of the awful possession that got hold of their bodies. What could possibly have caused such a misfortune? Maybe it was not wise to be so late last night in the woods. But it was requested of me, and since I needed to obey, I did.
Reverend Parris came bursting through the door to look at his daughters. I thought to see his face grow white, but he regained his composure rather quickly. He was after all the reverend of the village and my master. After watching the girls for a while and seeing that my attempt to make them well again were futile, he sends me to fetch the doctor. I bowed my head and went quickly away.
The doctor’s house was not far from the Parris. My master’s was the biggest in the village, and his was not far behind in comparison. All of the houses of the wealthy were made of dark wood and had multiple windows. They all looked imposing and threatening to me. They were nothing compared to the ones I used to see in Barbados before I was bought by the Reverend. I spotted the doctor just about to enter his house and made a run for him. I told him that the Reverend need it his services and we were quickly on our way to the house again.
He examines the girls. I wasn’t allowed to be in the room, but I stood at the top of the steady stairs and eavesdrop. I cared for those girls like they were mine. I hadn’t had kids yet and wasn’t sure if I was going to be able to. John Indian, my husband, wanted a lad, but I hadn’t been graced by one just yet.
Loud screaming, things falling, the door abruptly opens. I had no chance to move away before the strong hand of the Reverend was in my arm, hard pulling me inside the chamber. His grip was so strong and solid, and his pull so violent that I was thrown to the ground beside the beds. I didn’t understand what I had done. I looked confused at my master’s face and the doctor’s. They both were looking at me with eyes full of accusations, anger, and a hint of perceptible fear.
“…Master?” As soon as I spoke he came fast and stroke me hard at my left cheek. The sting of the hit was sharp and deep. I lay my hand on top of my tender skin fighting the tears that wanted to spill.
“They are bewitched, Tituba, bewitched! Care to explain that?! My girls are bewitched! They are possessed by the Devil and is all on you!” The Revered paced the chamber from corner to corner. His face was red with anger and his eyes had a crazy look. I looked at the doctor and he evaded my stare. All the screaming had brought the Reverend’s wife to the room and she was staring at me from the doorway. She looked from her poor pale girls on their beds, to me, to her husband. The doctor moved closer to her ear and whispered something beyond my hearing sight. But by the look on her face, I knew it wasn’t something good, not for me anyway.
“How could you, Tituba?” she sobbed and walked to her girls. She sat at the end of the bed of one of them and held her daughter’s hand. “How could you betray us in such a way, after we gave you, and your husband, food and a roof to live under?” She suppressed a sob and moved her hand to her daughter’s cheek. Feeling the unnatural heat of her body she soaked the cloth that was on the small table beside the bed and pressed it on her forehead.
I stood up to help her, but she slapped by hand away. I was left standing feeling shameful and confused, not sure why they were angry at me. I had done nothing wrong. I just tend to them like the loyal servant I am. Why were they so angry at me for their daughters being ill?
“…Master? I don’t understand….why have you hit me, master? What have I done wrong?” he spun around quickly and walked towards me. I shirked back to the wall between the beds. He searched my face for something that I had no knowledge of. “You bewitched my girls, Tituba! You are a witch!” I stood there dumbfounded for a few seconds. The words ran through my brains lighting bold fast. He was accusing me of doing something to the girls, something evil and perverse. I could never do that to them. Never!
“Master no! I am no witch. I haven’t bewitched the girls. I would never harm them. I swear on my life, on my dear husband! I am no witch!” He came at me again. This time harder than before. His hands came down on my face hard and with stinging force. I stumble again to the ground. He then grabbed me by the back of my head. I was forced to stand up by his gripping force. He walked with a fistful of my hair in his grip and forced me to walk before him. He led me to the top of the stairs and pushed me down. I rolled and rolled until I hit the bottom floor hard with the side of my face. I managed to get into a sitting position. My face stung like a fresh black hornet sting. My back and stomach hurt from the fall. The corner of my lip was swollen and bleeding as well as the top right corner of my forehead. The fall hadn’t been that fatal but had left me quite bruised and in deep pain. My pain was not only physical but spiritual as well. The tears that I had tried to hold back before started to run down my dirty swollen face.
***
A sob surprises me. I didn’t realize I was crying. The memories were so vivid, so full of life, pain, and sorrow. I didn’t want to remember anymore. I didn’t want to see it all in front of my eyes again. It was too painful, too horrible, and too sinful. Sinful. The favorite word of the Salem people. The word they used to torture and hang most of the innocent people here. Words like sin, witch, devil worshiper, magic, and others made a person’s clear death sentence. For all…except for me.
***
After my horrid beat up, things started to change. The other girls in the village started to fall “bewitched” again. Two got better, three got ill. One after the other like a rhythmic compass looking for a course at sea. The girls started a frenzy among the people of Salem. The frenzy was so colossal that doctors, judges, reverends of other places arrived into the village to categorize if it really was a case of witchcraft.
After some examination to some of the girls, and hearing to their accusations they acknowledge the ridiculous claims and declared the town as being hunted by witches who served the devil. The hysteria grew and the trials and torture began.
I found myself in front of a jury being trialed by the accusation of being a witch. My hands were bound behind my back and I faced the big reddish wooden podium where all the judges were sitting. They all looked down at me with anger and frivolity, and again a hint of fear. I was the only servant of color in the whole village maybe that was what made them so afraid and unsure of me.
I wasn’t alone in the courtroom. There were other two women with me that had been also accused of being witches. They were all tearful and trembling, their fear is palpable by the jury and myself. After they called to order and made the proper procedures, which I wasn’t whatsoever familiar with, they gave us a choice. We either confess of witchcraft which would spare our soul and deliver us into salvation, or we were hanged. If we confessed to being a witch we were also going to be punished for it. I didn’t comprehend. It made no sense to me.
They started asking us. The first two women trembled even more at the question. They cried and screamed affirming they hadn’t made a pact with no Devil. That they were loyal to the Almighty God. They were taken away fast and I know not of their outcome. I never saw them again.
“Tituba. What says thou to this? Do you confess of dealing with the Devil?” I closed my eyes and swallowed. What I was about to do would be unforgivable. I opened my eyes and looked at my master from across the room. His penetrating eyes ran a shiver down my spine and caused me a slight tremble. My face still felt the power of his hand. I focused my eyes once again to the judge and spoke as clearly as I could.
“Yes, I am a witch. I confess to the sins proposed by you and my soul is then spared in heaven.” The people in the courtroom gave a loud gasp followed by countless screams and arguments. The court wasn’t settled again and I was taken away to the prison cells far from the houses and farms of the village.
***
I was never taken to the gallows. I never met my death. I have been left here in my cell away from the civilization, but hearing and partially seeing what happened over there. I heard the screams of women and some men from here. Smelled their rotten flesh dumped not far from where I am now. Protests, cheers, and many more complaints were carried by the wind to my mostly empty cell. The other women inside never came too close, never spoke a word to me. I didn’t care. After the massive beating from the Reverend, and later the whippings he gave me, nothing could matter to me anymore. I had some strength left in me because I still held the hope that John would have made it out alive from all this hysteria. A sharp pain crossed my chest at the thought of him. Please, let him be alive!
I had lost count of the days, weeks, or months I have spent inside this hellhole. It really didn’t matter. I just wanted to be done already with all this. My guilt was pressing down my soul already too much. If I hadn’t done what these girls wanted from me, if I hadn’t complied maybe this chaos would have been evaded. But I could not resist the urge, I cannot run from my nature. I had to tell them the stories, the recipes; show them how to see into the future, how to use the words, how to blend in the shadows. And they definitely learned, they made this whole village go insane with superstition and burn innocent people while they were hidden safely away and looked innocent. I don’t regret teaching them, but I regret they turned it into carnage.
I heard the same heavy footsteps at the distance. I rose and sat straighter with my back to the wall and listened. They were definitely getting closer and closer. My heart started to beat fast in my chest. I was afraid someone might hear it and caught me off guard.
Close. Even closer still. I hear the chain bolts of the front gate give a loud thud before falling hard on the ground.
“Tituba?” A familiar voice calls my name. I stand up slowly and walk towards the door. The others around me pressed themselves against the rock walls and deviate their eyes. Outside the cold night, air caresses my exposed skin. My feet soak up the midnight dampness of the earth and grass. I found myself staring at two men. It takes me some time to recognize one of them. His dark skin glittering with sweat under the star night. His black eyes connecting with mine like so many times they did before.
“John!” I run towards him and he embraces me. I hear his inhalation on my neck, not minding my decadent state. Overjoyed tears roll down my cheeks and I can’t stop smiling. I hug him hard making sure that he is real. I run my hands all over his back and arms and hear him chuckle.
“It’s me Tituba. It is me.” I feel tears of joy splash on my neck. I am so overwhelmed by the joy that I almost forget he didn’t come alone. I separate myself from John to see who was with him. I weave my fingers with John’s not wanting to break the contact. The man that was with him is hidden inside a dark cloak and I cannot see his face.
“John?” I raise my eyes to my husband.
“He bailed you out. He is going to help us. He’s going to take us away, Tituba! We are going to start over.” Sudden excitement and wonder bloomed in my heart.
“Where?”
A deep and dark voice answered from underneath the black cloak.
“New Orleans.” And like that, a new horizon was awaiting me. A new beginning. A new destiny.
