16. SURVIVE, BE GREAT.
ESTHER
Walk slowly.
Don’t trip.
Don’t smile too much.
You can do this Esther.
You can do this.
“Are you nervous?” Adith asked as he made sure that not a single thread was showing on the beading of my gold-stitched waist-styled dress. “This is your first time coming without your grandfather, right?”
I stared at him for second unsure of what to say so I looked back out the window at the slowly moving queue. Even through the heavily tinted windows the flashes made me dizzy. All the cameras, the crowd along the sidelines…it didn’t make me nervous. No. It terrified me. The longer I looked out the heavier my heart pounded against my chest. My hands were balled into fists and my nails dug into my palms as I tried to control my breathing.
“I can’t do this,” I whispered shaking my head. “Why am I doing this?”
“You said it was because your grandfather never missed the Autumn Gala and you didn’t want people to forget him—”
“I know what I said!” I hollered, and as I placed my hands over my face, my breathing came out in a short gasp. Everyone who was anyone would be here and I was sure they would all look perfectly amazing. The most artistic created an iconic look for themselves that left people going, ‘did you see what she wore to the Autumn Gala?’ for weeks and have everyone asking next year, ‘you think she’ll top it for the Met in May?’
The Autumn Gala had started as a follow-up annual fundraiser for the publishing world. It was to New York what the Oscars were to Hollywood. After the Metropolitan Museum of Arts opened one of the largest literary collections, it was now one of the biggest social events in New York for authors, agents, screenwriters, publishers, and even directors. I’d gone twice before with my grandfather when I was around the age of twelve. Other than that, this wasn’t my world. My grandfather…me…I was just…I was just Esther Noëlle.
“I can’t do this! Why am I here? I’m not a celebrity. I don’t want to be here. Excuse me! I’m sorry, can we turn—?”
It was too late for that.
Tears formed in my eyes as the door opened and I could see the long red carpet that had been rolled out. The lights of the cameras flashed never-endingly.
“Ma’am?” The doorman asked waiting for me.
Swallowing the lump of fear in my throat I reached out to take his hand. My ankle-strapped heels first touched the step of the car before touching down on the carpet. Adith, held on to the train of my dress, spreading it behind me on the carpet.
“Pose,” he whispered up to me.
I glanced around at the cameras but I wasn’t sure what else to do so I merely put my hand on my waist and gave them a small smile.
“Let’s go,” I whispered as I swept my hair back over my shoulder and walked forward. I didn’t want to take pictures and I was sure they didn’t want one of me either.
Adith stood just off to my right and I smiled without really caring while I walked slowly forward. Each step I took reminded me of my grandfather, and each step forward without him felt as if I was leaving him behind.
It hurt.
All of it hurt.
I wanted to go home.
I wanted to cry.
My eyes were already burning and my vision blurred but I held back. I prayed and fought for the strength to hold them back and it worked. I couldn’t just run past the other actors and actresses, and so when they stopped I stopped so that my picture could be taken, but at some point it felt like I was walking in darkness and I could only see three feet ahead of me.
“Watch your—”
I didn’t realize it until it was too late. I’d stepped on my own dress as I tried to climb the stairs and before I could stop myself I was falling towards the red carpet. My hands instinctively stuck out however they touched nothing.
“Must you fall each time we meet, Ms. Noëlle?”
I hadn’t closed my eyes for more than a second so I wasn’t sure how I’d found myself in this situation…no, not in this situation but in his arms. How was it that I was in Malachi’s arms? How was it that Malachi just happened to be here? But he didn’t look like Malachi. If it weren’t for his piercing blue eyes and his scar that ran across one of them I’d never would have believed that it was actually him. His hair was cut shorter and styled and he was rocking the most perfect five o’clock shadow. But the biggest change of all was the velvet suit and bow tie he wore.
“My arm is getting tired. Do you mind standing now?” He smirked at me.
Rolling my eyes, I held on to him as I stood straight. Adith rushed over to fix my dress but Malachi shook his head and did it himself. Staring at him, I was unsure if I was dreaming or losing my mind. I watched as he flared out the train before he rose and offered me his arm. When I didn’t take it, he took my hand and put it on his arm. Holding his arm up above mine and we continued walking.
“You might have forgotten but I’m not the best conversationalist. It’s even worse if the other person doesn’t speak,” he said as he paused and turned to take a picture with me. I turned towards the camera and stared blankly into the lens before I remembered to smile.
“Esther, say something please,” he whispered as we began to walk again.
“You’re really here?” It was more of a question to myself than him.
“I am.”
“How?” It wasn’t like anyone would just get an invitation—
“I was invited. Alfred always made sure I got one.” When he said my grandfather’s name he smiled but not out of happiness. He smiled like I smiled when I thought of him…which made me wonder if he hurt like I hurt whenever I thought of my grandfather.
Without another word, we walked into the museum without stopping to pose for any more pictures. The security guard watched us for a moment as we entered and moved in the opposite direction of the Gala but he didn’t bother us. My heels clicked on the granite ground and the classical archways around us mirrored those of Rome or Ancient Greece making it feel as though were walking back in time with each step we took. We walked until we stood under the glass ceiling. In the center of the room was a sculpture, most of it fractured, that was missing both its arms and its right leg. The white stone was now aged and browning.
“Do you know why these are here?” he asked as he paused to look up at the beheaded, armless, marble statue of Aphrodite.
“They’re…beautiful and historic,” I answered. Though part of me wondered why I was allowing him to just whisk me away. Why was I standing with him? Why I was still holding on to his hand. And part of me knew the answer as to why I didn’t ask these questions. I feared that he’d just vanish if I did…and I’d be alone again.
“Beautiful and historic,” he whispered with a smirk before he led me forward again. “Once upon a time they were neither beautiful nor horrid but simply a representation, a mirror, of the person they were created for…it was their way of taking photographs. And now they are here and deemed great simply because they survived throughout history.”
“You don’t think they are worthy of being great?” I asked softly. No one else was around, with the exception of a few guards, and I didn’t want my voice to echo.
“There were much better sculptures in ancient Greece…and Rome.”
I rolled my eyes. “Let me guess, in one of your past lives you were a sculptor?”
“Exactly.” He grinned down at me.
“Well, your work should have survived,” I teased. “They might not be as great as the ones of ancient Rome or Greece. But who’s going to know? Among all of the art back then, they survived and now the world only looks to them because we can’t appreciate something that isn’t there…so survival in itself is greatness.”
“And those who survive without wanting to?” He looked down at me as we crossed over toward the African Art exhibits.
“They are great twice over. Could you imagine a car that doesn’t want to have fuel in it? And just as it’s on its very last drop of oil, the tank automatically refills itself. Everyone in the world would want the car.”
“Everyone but Mother Nature.” He frowned and I couldn’t help but laugh.
“Seriously, how can you still be so negative?”
“It’s a gift.” He shrugged.
“Some gift alright!” I muttered as I paused to shift my gown and take off my heels, but I’d forgotten that they were strapped to my ankle and was forced to let go of him. But before I could bend down he dropped to one knee.
“What are you doing?” I dropped my dress quickly. Then joked. “Sorry I’m not ready for marriage—”
“Your feet hurt. I got it. Lift.”
“You don’t have to be bossy. And don’t comment on my feet either.” Urgh! I felt so embarrassed as his hands softly touched the back of my calf as he undid the buckle around my ankle and allowed me to slip my foot out and onto the bare ground before he worked on the other.
“Thank you,” I whispered.
I was glad that he didn’t say anything, he just stood back up and held my shoes in his hands. I took them from him and held them to my side. I wanted to say…to ask him what was going on, but again fear stopped me because I knew I was dreaming and I didn’t want to wake up. So when he offered his arm I took it once more. We walked towards the exhibit and paused at the first one—a pair of long black ivory masks and I thought of a question I could ask.
“Obinna the Great and his love, Adaeze? I knew nothing about them other than the fact that they were African royalty who led an army that defeated the English.”
He stopped and looked up at the African painted shield which had been woven together as if it were one giant shield that hung over our heads.
“Rumm…bahk…rumah…bacokka…rumm…”
Looking down from the shields as he whispered—no, chanted—softly up at then. His face was determined but void of emotion. Just by simply closing his eyes and opening them he relaxed, though didn’t smile nor did he look down.
“Most men, throughout history, who were given the title of the greatness, earned it through the ability of conquest. Whether it was Alexander the Great or Sultan Suleiman the Magnificent, history remembers them as kings who expanded their empires to touch the corners of the known world and still they wanted more.”
“What then made Obinna great if he wasn’t a king or didn’t conquer anything?” I asked and he finally looked to me, with pain in his eyes. “If it hurts you too much to talk about it, you don’t—”
“Obinna the Great was not a king, but the son of a goat farmer and as such…”
His voice drifted off as he glanced around at the artifacts. I let go of his arm and he looked down at me confused for a moment until I sat down on the bench.
“Even in my dreams I’m too lazy to stand.” I smiled as I tucked my feet under me and sat in a very unladylike manner on the bench.
“You think you’re dreaming?”
“Shh…” I put my finger over my lips. “I don’t want to think. I can’t be positive if I think too much nowadays. If I start thinking I’ll wonder, why you’re here. Even if you got an invitation you’ve always gotten one and never came. So why now? I’ll end up going down a rabbit hole of questions and I’ll lose out on hearing about the love story of an African princess and a goat farmer.”
He fixed his gaze on me as he undid his bowtie. “You do know these stories do not have a happily ever after?”
“Smudge and waterproof eyeliner along with mascara.” I pointed to my face proudly. “Also you’re technically still here so if anything it’s just a prolonged happily ever after.”
I was expecting one of his snarky comebacks but there wasn’t one. Instead he merely grinned.
“Don’t say I didn’t warn you.”
“Come, Mr. Lord!” I tapped my wrist. “I have a seven a.m. meeting so I can’t afford to spend all night dreaming about you.”
MALACHI
I wasn’t sure if she really believed she was dreaming or not. I’d hoped she would remember as we walked through history—the ruins of our history—and yet she still seemed clueless. It was both frustrating with her and myself. Frustrated with her for not remembering…frustrated with myself for wanting her to remember when I knew what could…what would happen…
“The year was 1684, and there was not a soul throughout Igboland who hadn’t heard of the disappearances—the beast that came and stole men, women, and even children from the world, whether day or night. Sisters were missing, brothers were dead and tears soaked the earth as fear slithered from village to village. Elders, Kings, and men came together from all across the land. And in desperation, only one answer could be found, that which elevated Obinna to greatness…”
8th Onwa Asato (August) 1684 – Okwu Village, Igboland, Nigeria
“Chizoba, walk!” I commanded the stubborn old white goat with black spots around its eyes as if it were some warrior, yet still she pulled none of her own weight and instead stood there happily chewing on the grass, not at all caring that her back legs were sinking into the mud. “Go ahead now.” I threw my hands up in frustration. “Eat. Take your time. I’ll wait.”
Walking from behind her, I dusted off my hands and feet as I sat by the grass she was eating and shook my head at her. She ate as if we deprived her of food. “Chizoba, hey…are you the only goat in Obokwu? Why now? Why? Every time I turn my face you’re running someplace. Look!” I lifted my feet to show her. “You make me run more than my own father’s switch. Are you not ashamed?”
She cried out as she began to slip further back into the mud but only because it made it harder for her to eat.
“Ahh! See? Good for you!” I nodded to her as I rose from the grass and moved into the mud behind her. This time when I pushed under her legs she struggled and was able to free herself but instead of waiting for me the selfish goat began to run once more.
“Chizoba!” I ran after her. At least this time she ran towards the village. She cleared a path through the tall grass as she ran, which was how I always knew the way she went. I stayed low. My plan was to capture her and throw her over my shoulder. I was tired of her games but as I moved forward I saw the smoke rising in the distance.
The sound of lightning…
The words of my father came to mind: if you hear the sound of lightning coming from the rod of a white hand run, run and warn the others.
Again, I heard it, and yet, instead of running from it, I ran towards it. Leaving Chizoba in the grass I leaped over the stones of our land and ran towards home. My hands touched the brown walls and I looked around to see my father and my brother fighting, but the rods of lightning shot smoke and fire into the air.
Reaching for the dagger that hung from my waist, I drew it and prepared to fight. But before I could step forward his calm old eyes, clear like the sky, stopped me. He and every man and woman were armed and ready to fight these beasts of men that we’d long heard whispers about. He offered me one word. The only word that could be offered if this were to happen.
Run.
So I ran. I ran so that I could do what I’d been told to do—warn them all. I ran and ran even as the lightning came chasing after me. I did not know the language they squawked as they sent their fire at me. In the corner of my eyes I saw Chizoba running alongside me, however she could not escape their fire and fell. Her wailing was the last thing I heard as her white coat was stained with red.
I cried out as I tried to cover my eyes when pieces of the tree showered down in front of me. I fell face down onto the rocks. Blood pooled in my mouth and moments later I could feel the pain spread across my face. Reaching up I placed my hand over my eye.
Obinna, run. Run my son, run! I heard my father’s voice. Spitting the blood out of my mouth, I picked myself up and ran. My feet carried me further and further away and soon I came upon another village. Yet I did not stop. Instead, I reached down and took the piece of cloth at my waist and waved it in the air so they would know…the beast had come. The women who had children grabbed them and the men and the others grabbed their spears. I wished to speak with them but I could not.
I ran.
I ran for my father. Even if my legs would burn, even if my heart would stop, I would run. Each village I ran through I waved the cloth for them to see, the sun began to fall and the moon rose over the plains. It was all I could do. And just as my body began to fall forward, arms caught hold of me.
“Brother.”
I lifted the cloth to them one final time before falling over.
11th Onwa Asato (August) 1684 – Bikjga Village, Igboland, Nigeria
“You are awake?” Her voice was….so familiar. Like a voice I had heard a dozen times in my dreams. I opened my eyes and saw her kneeling over me. Her brown eyes stared down at me and when she smiled my heart leaped. My mind reeled with memories beyond my control. Reaching up I touched my face and felt the healing paste that had been put over it, but it was too late…I remembered.
“Tell the elders,” the woman called out to the other women I hadn’t noticed behind her.
“You did well. Rest,” she said as she tried to push me back down. However, the moment her hands touched my skin she jumped and pulled her hands away as she frowned. I knew by the confusion on her face….it was her.
“What is it they call you?” I asked.
She looked away from her hands to me. “Princess Adaeze of Bikjga.”
It was then that I noticed the orange beads upon her arms and neck and the scarf that had been tied and twisted to keep her dark hair up…in this life she was a princess.
“As Princess, I must give thanks—”
“He’s awake.” The elder arrived. His long beard was white and gray and his waist was covered with the same red cloth that she wore, just like his neck and arms bore the same orange beads as hers.
“Yes, father.” She rose and backed away from me, allowing him to come forward. I tried to rise up but couldn’t move. The woman in the tent moved forward to help.
Placing his hands upon my shoulder he said, “Obinna of Okwu, he who ran from dawn to dusk and dusk to dawn. We must give thanks. We must celebrate this greatness. Rest my boy, your father smiles on you.”
“My father? My brothers?” I asked him. “Father said there were no greater warriors than those in Bikjga, it’s why—”
He patted my shoulder. “We could not make it to the village in time.”
My shoulders dropped and I saw their faces in my mind—my father’s face. “Were they taken?”
He shook his head. “Your family shall forever be sons of this soil. They stood and fought.”
They were gone and yet relief filled me. I did not know what to say to this feeling. I was not sure if I was even speaking aloud anymore. All I knew was that I did not want to be laying down, but when I tried to stand up my legs trembled and shook as the pain in them grew ever more present in my mind.
“Mama!” She called out as she rushed outside of the hut. The Elder got up as an even older woman entered. Her brown skin was so wrinkled that the folds of her eyelids made her eyes droop. Her head was covered with a brown scarf and the ring of beads around her neck far surpassed those of the princess who helped bring her closer to me.
I tried to show respect…but the pain.
The princess tried to get her attention but the elder merely lifted her hand briefly revealing a yellow dust within her palm before she blew it into my face.
Coughing, I inhaled and went back to sleep…
12th Onwa Asato (August) 1684 – Bikjga Village, Igboland, Nigeria
“Obinna…I can see that you are awake,” Princess Adaeze said amused.
Opening my eyes, I thought she was the one who was rubbing my legs. But instead I found Mama hovering over me. Mama tilted her head to me as my eyes widened in surprise, and I sat up on my elbows.
“Hum…” Looking toward the wall, I saw her hard at work grinding herbs into a jar. A small smile lingered on her lips and I couldn’t help but smile back. It was then that I felt the pressure on my legs again. Shifting my gaze to Mama she stared at me unmoving.
“She wants to know if you are in pain,” Princess Adaeze said while Mama kept looking at me.
Shaking my head no, she pressed harder. Again I shook my head. Shifting down to my feet, she dug her longest nail into my foot and I flinched.
She smiled at that and nodded to herself before she looked to Princess Adaeze who spoke for her. “She says you have recovered.” Rising from her work she came over to help Mama up and the Elder put her hands to my face nodding over and over again.
“She’s proud of you and you are strong.”
I nodded back to her. “Thank you.”
Princess Adaeze helped her up before she walked back to the corner wall and sat down on the cow skin hide. Picking up whatever she’d been grinding she placed it into her drink. I was able to sit up now and I reached up to touch my face. The paste was now gone but I now had an all-too-familiar scar on my eye.
“How are you feeling?” Princess Adaeze asked as she kneeled in front of me and gave me the wooden cup.
Taking it, I drank and immediately regretted doing so.
“It’s horrible we know,” she laughed at me while I coughed at the vile liquid. She pushed the cup towards me and urged me to keep drinking. “But this is good for the body, it makes one live long. Mama drinks nothing else but this.”
I could help but lean in and whisper, “How long has she lived?”
With a laugh, she pretended to whisper but spoke loudly, “So long that she’s heard all that needs to be heard and no longer hears.”
That meant whispering was pointless which was why she was laughing. I enjoyed her laughter. Her face, her…
When I did not speak, she frowned and her big brown eyes looked me over carefully.
“Why do I know you…when I do not know you?” she asked.
I could not answer as the battle cry that came from outside the walls of the hut drew her attention away from me.
“I must go. Stay. Rest.” She got up quickly and took the herbs she’d made with her as she disappeared through the hanging skin that served as the hut’s door. She moved with such great speed it felt as though she was gone in the time it took me to blink.
“To be ruler of Bikjga, you must serve Bikjga.” Mama’s voice was so soft I wondered how I’d heard it over the roaring voices. She’d spoken not to me but to herself, nodding again as she drank. She did not look at me.
Finishing the horrible drink, I pushed myself up from the ground and limped towards the doorway. She did not stop me from leaving. And when I drew the hide door back, the sun was blinding, causing me to shield my eyes but not my ears.
“Rumm…bahk…rumah…bacokka…rumm…” The warriors chanted as they arrived back into the village, many carrying their brothers who could not carry themselves on the backs of their shields. In the midst of it all, Princess Adaeze stood tall with a wall of women behind her. They all held jars in their hands and she commanded over them, telling them where to go as they shared their herbs for all.
I watched as everyone in the village emerged from their homes, from the bushes, from far and close to see them. “Rumm…bahk…rumah…bacokka…rumm…” They chanted loudly.
The biggest of them—a man whose brown skin was torn, bleeding, and covered in sand—looked to the sky and screamed, “VICTORY!” Lifting his shield, everyone lifted their voices as they cheered.
“We shall not go!” He flipped the spear in his hand and drove it into the earth. “I, Prince Banjoko of Ife, will not go! They shall go! THEY SHALL GO!”
The ground shook with their voices. Flipping his shield as he had flipped his spear again he slammed it into the earth. His chest rose and fell in rage, hope, and certainty of purpose. Princess Adaeze, the only one who seemed calm, handed him a cup, but before she could move on to another man he took her hand and lifted it up with his.
Everyone bowed their heads with respect and the words of Mama came to my ears once more...To be ruler of Bikjg,a you must serve Bikjga.
“Adaeze…” I instinctively whispered her name and in the midst of the uproar her eyes snapped to my mine as if she had clearly heard me…no…she had clearly heard me. The longer she stared the stronger I felt it. That rope, that pulse, that ache, which wrapped around my heart and connected to hers.
“I know you.”
***
Blinking, I looked away from the shields above me. I glanced back to her and though she was teary-eyed, she stared at me seriously as she reached up to touch the side of her head. Pushing herself up, her bare feet touched the ground once again.
“Was she married to someone else?”
I shook my head. “If she were married she would’ve been Queen. In Bikjga, the man and woman whom the villagers believed were the most worthy were the prince and princess, when they marry they became king and queen. But Adaeze soon remembered who I was, and from there…everything fell apart.”
“The slavers came.”
I didn’t want to go any deeper into the past…not when I knew she’d be dragged there on her own soon now.
“You’re annoying. You know that, right?” She sniffled.
I raised my eyebrow at her. I was more amused than bothered. “How so?”
“I’m supposed to be mad at you,” she said as she stood directly in front of me. “You lied to me. I didn’t get to say goodbye to my grandfather. You didn’t come to his funeral. You never even called to ask if I was alright. I’m the one who’s been hurt, so why do I keep worrying about you? Why am I always thinking about you?”
“Because,” I reached up to cup her cheek, “that’s how love works, Esther. You think of me before yourself and I think of you before myself.”
She laughed which was the worst response to a confession. Her laughter faded and her smile dropped as she stared at me. “Now I know I’m dreaming! You don’t love me. You’ve loved the same woman nine hundred ninety-nine times—”
“And now one thousand,” I whispered as I placed both my hands on the sides of her face.
She stared up at me in shock.
“Li-Mei…”
“Not her. You. You, Esther Noëlle. I ran to the mountains and you still found me. I’ve never been able to escape you,” I said trying my best not to give in to my own tears of joy and pain. “I can’t. I don’t want to. You’ve been the greatest love of my life a thousand times, and I now remember why…because without you I have no sun. I’m overwhelmed by darkness. I can’t laugh or breathe without you. I live because of you.”
“Malachi…you’re making a mistake again—”
“You want proof?”
She wordlessly regarded me before nodding her head.
I tilted her head back and glanced at her full, slightly parted lips before I bent down and kissed her. It was in that moment when my lips touched hers I remembered why I’d looked for her over and over again. Kissing her…kissing her made me whole again. It warmed my soul.
She was the sun of my existence.
Without her I was cold and dead on the inside.
ESTHER
It was as though the ground beneath me broke away when he kissed me. I was falling and he was falling with me. All around me I felt the sun rise on us. I felt snow and rain and the wind blowing. I felt the sand under my feet, then grass, and I couldn’t help but hold on to him tighter.
I couldn’t help but kiss him back, and with a longing unlike anything I’d felt before, I gave into his kiss and slowly opened my mouth. The world changed around us and each time it did my heart ached. I wanted to laugh and cry and sing and dance. Emotions flooded me and it made breathing, thinking, and almost everything else painful. Pain…so much pain.
2nd Onwa Ite Na Ni (September) 1684 – Obofia Forest, Igboland, Nigeria
“Banjoko! NO! NO!”
As I ran forward to stop him, the distance between me and Obinna seemed to span as wide as the oceans. At my voice, Obinna turned around just as Banjoko’s spear went through his chest.
“AHHH!” I screamed and the distance, now that it was too late, became short again. As I reached him, he fell. “Obi! Obi!...ahh….”
Unable to speak he reached up to touch my face.
“No…no…” Rocking back and forth I held on to him.
“You can’t save him. Take my hand. They’re coming!”
“CURSE YOU!” I screamed as I smacked his hand away. And when he moved to grab me I pulled the knife and held it to my neck. “You can’t save me! Go! GO!”
He stood there but when he saw the fire rising from the village he backed away slowly.
“Adaeze…”
Ignoring him, I held on to Obinna and continued rocking back and forth.
JULY 4th 1781 - Guanajuato, New Spain
“Ana!”
Carlos leaped from his balcony to mine and grabbed hold of me, pulling me away from my father, who was staring at me in shock as he backed away and let the knife drop from his hands.
“Papa…” I wanted to tell him…ask him why…but I couldn’t and my legs gave out as Carlos lowered me to the ground while screaming at Papa. “Help! Get help!”
He pressed his hands against my chest as he tried to stop the bleeding. It hurt…it all hurt. Reaching up I took his bloodied hand.
“I’ll…see you…again.”
“ANA NO! Please. Please Don’t… ANA!!” I felt his tears on my face.
***
“Ahh…” I cried out as I broke away from him. I was shaking and trying to breathe, trying to stand, but I couldn’t seem to do either any longer. All of me hurt. He held on to me tightly.
“It’s okay, it’s okay. I have you,” he whispered. “I’ve always had you, Esther. I always will.”
My mind went blank and the pain stopped.