The Marriage of Opposites
Page 61
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It is a sin and an abomination to lay with a member of your own family, as well as a criminal act. We suggest you return to Paris.
Frédéric was waiting for her on the street. Rachel took off her mother’s wedding veil. She gave it to the first woman who passed by, a young African woman who thanked her for the gift, for it was beautiful French lace.
“I never cared for it,” Rachel told Frédéric.
He laughed, which was a relief. He had seemed so hurt and confused to have been turned away and told he was a criminal.
“I never care for anyone’s opinion of me either,” Rachel said.
“I’ve heard that about you.” He grinned at her. “I’ve heard many things about you.”
“It’s all true.” Rachel might have felt herself to be a fool, wearing her best clothing and standing in the street, but she did not. They walked back the way they had come. Some who spied on them said they were hand in hand, though they were so close to one another it was difficult to tell.
IT WAS A SURPRISE to some and not to others when, two years after her husband died, and less than a year after his nephew had arrived on the island, Rachel Pomié Petit appeared to be expecting a child. She acted as if no one noticed, but in fact she was all anyone could talk about. In every household the scandal was discussed at breakfast and then again at the dinner table. Those who so blatantly broke rules usually had the decency to disappear; they withdrew from the congregation and went to the Carolinas or South America rather than bring shame upon their people. But not Rachel Pomié Petit. If anything, she grew more defiant with each passing day. Some people said that a pelican flew above her when she brought her children to the synagogue’s school, perhaps to prevent taunts from the other children. As it was, no one said a word about her condition. Not the children or their parents or the women of Blessings and Peace and Loving Kindness. They were all waiting to see what would happen next.
That handsome man, Frédéric Pizzarro, still came to the synagogue to pray in the morning and at sundown, even though no one spoke to him and no man would sit next to him. He didn’t seem to mind. He had been something of a loner since he’d first arrived. When Rachel Pomié Petit was too huge for anyone to ignore her circumstances, she stayed at home, where it was said that Frédéric Pizzarro had moved into her room without the benefit of a marriage contract.
The family in Bordeaux, business partners worried for their financial future, heard the gossip and immediately denounced the relationship. The couple didn’t seem to notice their disapproval, or if they did, they didn’t care. Frédéric did not answer the frantic letters from his relatives, but merely continued to send a monthly business report. When the baby’s time came, on a bright February day, Rachel called for Jestine, who helped to deliver her. After only a few weeks Madame Petit could be seen carrying the baby through town as if she were a married woman, as if the father of her child was not the nephew of her husband, as if sin was the last thing on her mind.
* The name was traditionally Pizzarro, until Camille Pissarro changed it to the French spelling in the 1880s.
chapter six
The Night of the Old Year
Charlotte Amalie, St. Thomas
1826
RACHEL POMIÉ PETIT PIZZARRO
If I had locked myself away to wear mourning clothes for the rest of my life the members of the congregation would have certainly approved. Many would have preferred I give my baby to a family who couldn’t have a child of their own. Every door shut. When I walked through the marketplace the other women passed by, ignoring me. I was a cautionary tale, and young girls especially fled from me. I came to understand why the pirates’ wives had lived alone in the caves, not wanting even one another’s company. It was easier not to face judgment, especially from your own kind.
We named our son Joseph Félix, a second son named after my predecessor’s child to bring good fortune. But he was a pale, quiet child who never fussed, too quiet, I believed. I wondered if he’d been cursed as I carried him, if the whispers about me had seeped inside and harmed him in some way, for he was often listless and seemed to lack spirit. I kept him close, and at night I often took him into bed with us, so that our bodies might warm him and keep him safe despite the cold reception of our own people. For months after the birth, Frédéric had gone to the elders of our community, begging them to let us marry, but each time he was refused. The Reverend would not see him, and when Frédéric insisted on intruding on the council, the elders who made decisions for all, they disrespected him, suggesting that he find his own lodgings and look for a suitable wife.
Frédéric was waiting for her on the street. Rachel took off her mother’s wedding veil. She gave it to the first woman who passed by, a young African woman who thanked her for the gift, for it was beautiful French lace.
“I never cared for it,” Rachel told Frédéric.
He laughed, which was a relief. He had seemed so hurt and confused to have been turned away and told he was a criminal.
“I never care for anyone’s opinion of me either,” Rachel said.
“I’ve heard that about you.” He grinned at her. “I’ve heard many things about you.”
“It’s all true.” Rachel might have felt herself to be a fool, wearing her best clothing and standing in the street, but she did not. They walked back the way they had come. Some who spied on them said they were hand in hand, though they were so close to one another it was difficult to tell.
IT WAS A SURPRISE to some and not to others when, two years after her husband died, and less than a year after his nephew had arrived on the island, Rachel Pomié Petit appeared to be expecting a child. She acted as if no one noticed, but in fact she was all anyone could talk about. In every household the scandal was discussed at breakfast and then again at the dinner table. Those who so blatantly broke rules usually had the decency to disappear; they withdrew from the congregation and went to the Carolinas or South America rather than bring shame upon their people. But not Rachel Pomié Petit. If anything, she grew more defiant with each passing day. Some people said that a pelican flew above her when she brought her children to the synagogue’s school, perhaps to prevent taunts from the other children. As it was, no one said a word about her condition. Not the children or their parents or the women of Blessings and Peace and Loving Kindness. They were all waiting to see what would happen next.
That handsome man, Frédéric Pizzarro, still came to the synagogue to pray in the morning and at sundown, even though no one spoke to him and no man would sit next to him. He didn’t seem to mind. He had been something of a loner since he’d first arrived. When Rachel Pomié Petit was too huge for anyone to ignore her circumstances, she stayed at home, where it was said that Frédéric Pizzarro had moved into her room without the benefit of a marriage contract.
The family in Bordeaux, business partners worried for their financial future, heard the gossip and immediately denounced the relationship. The couple didn’t seem to notice their disapproval, or if they did, they didn’t care. Frédéric did not answer the frantic letters from his relatives, but merely continued to send a monthly business report. When the baby’s time came, on a bright February day, Rachel called for Jestine, who helped to deliver her. After only a few weeks Madame Petit could be seen carrying the baby through town as if she were a married woman, as if the father of her child was not the nephew of her husband, as if sin was the last thing on her mind.
* The name was traditionally Pizzarro, until Camille Pissarro changed it to the French spelling in the 1880s.
chapter six
The Night of the Old Year
Charlotte Amalie, St. Thomas
1826
RACHEL POMIÉ PETIT PIZZARRO
If I had locked myself away to wear mourning clothes for the rest of my life the members of the congregation would have certainly approved. Many would have preferred I give my baby to a family who couldn’t have a child of their own. Every door shut. When I walked through the marketplace the other women passed by, ignoring me. I was a cautionary tale, and young girls especially fled from me. I came to understand why the pirates’ wives had lived alone in the caves, not wanting even one another’s company. It was easier not to face judgment, especially from your own kind.
We named our son Joseph Félix, a second son named after my predecessor’s child to bring good fortune. But he was a pale, quiet child who never fussed, too quiet, I believed. I wondered if he’d been cursed as I carried him, if the whispers about me had seeped inside and harmed him in some way, for he was often listless and seemed to lack spirit. I kept him close, and at night I often took him into bed with us, so that our bodies might warm him and keep him safe despite the cold reception of our own people. For months after the birth, Frédéric had gone to the elders of our community, begging them to let us marry, but each time he was refused. The Reverend would not see him, and when Frédéric insisted on intruding on the council, the elders who made decisions for all, they disrespected him, suggesting that he find his own lodgings and look for a suitable wife.
