A Simple Deception

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"You cannot defeat darkness by running from it, nor can you conquer your inner demons by hiding them from the world. In order to defeat the darkness, you must bring it into the light." Seth Adam Smith, Rip Van Winkle and the Pumpkin Lantern

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Alex was no stranger to nightmares. He had experienced exhausting, terrifying nights for as long as he could remember. It was something that he had never been able to understand. When reality was so frightening, why did rest have to be so? Alex had endured the agony of Master's lashing a hundred times over in his dreams.

But they had waned. And for the briefest of times, they had stopped. It was no surprise to surmise that the only peace he had ever known in his life was when he had known Susanna.

But in the week that he had been back at the coffee plantation, Alex's nightmares were back with a vicious vengeance. He felt the pain, the fear, the hunger, the exhaustion, amplified and right at the surface, as though he would break down in tears at any moment.

He hated it. He hated this place, the memories that were attached to it. He hated that the very ground he walked made him feel powerless. He hated that the masters, the grand and petit blancs had taken his country from him. Haiti didn't feel like his home.

That peace that he craved could only be found in one place.

The free men and women who now worked this land had established a camp in one of the fields, which rotated each season. This temporary village consisted of hide tents which dotted the land. The small tent that belonged to his mother contained a straw mattress and a cloth pillow which she had stitched. Amélie had kindly given it to Belle as she continued to recuperate.

The sun had gone down on the workday, and Alex had worked. It was sickening, really, how used to the work his muscles still were. He tired quicker, probably owing to his journey from England, but it felt natural, and that was another thing that he hated.

But the sky. There was nothing so beautiful as a Caribbean sky, and the stars twinkled above like constant beacons away from this place. Alex sat down outside his mother's tent as the scents of the evening meal began to permeate the air.

"I am sorry, Alex," murmured Belle quietly from inside the tent.

Alex turned his head to see her sitting up on the straw mattress. She looked better. She regained her colour more and more each day. After only just a short while eating proper meals, her face didn't seem so gaunt. Alex wondered if he looked the same.

"You do not need to keep apologising," he assured her.

Belle understood as well as his mother did what being here was like for him. Belle also blamed herself for keeping them on the plantation. Alex couldn't fathom the sort of girl who would experience such a catastrophic wound as hers and yet believe herself to be at fault.

Alex drew his eyes back to the fire that was crackling away near the tent, the flames licking the dried pieces of wood with slow, hypnotising movements.

"A special supper for you, my dear one." Amélie returned, juggling three small wooden bowls. Alex knew the scent immediately now that the food was so close, but he couldn't quite believe it.

It continued to frighten him how the smells of this place brought back terrifying memories. This was no different. Soup joumou. That was what his mother had brought for him. It was a dish reserved only for the grand and petit blancs. It was considered superior, not for the enslaved blacks. They, of course, were forced to cultivate the ingredients, but the consummation of the by product was strictly banned.