Chimamanda

chapter 5

Celeste sat on one of the chairs in the sitting room, her long brown hair neatly packed into a bun, sipping her tea with deliberate calm.

Sitting close to the fireplace, Celeste D’Armont, Madame of the Grand D’Armont Mansion, exuded sophistication and authority.

Despite her captivating beauty, there was an unmistakable chill about her — a warning, as though saying, stay away unless you wish to freeze.

Behind her stood two women, heads bowed: one holding a warm teapot, the other a finely crafted handkerchief, used to wipe her mouth at intervals. The only sound in the room was the sharp crackling of the fire.

Celeste cherished these quiet evenings before Lucien returned; they allowed her space to think.

A sudden knock disrupted her calm, drawing a flash of annoyance across her face before a practiced smile returned. One of the girls, the one holding the handkerchief, left at her command and opened the door, bowing low in respect.

From inside, Chimamanda heard the door open — loud and startling — revealing a young lady with short black hair, bowing as she held the door wide.

“Madame,” said two men, heads bowed. Chimamanda instinctively bowed hers as well.

A voice followed, speaking rapidly, almost too fast for Chimamanda to follow, while one of the men replied just as quickly. The rapid exchange, incomprehensible to her, made Chimamanda tense, confused by the strange sounds.

The back-and-forth continued for about four minutes. With each exchange, the air seemed heavier, more compressed, pressing down on her chest. Just as she feared it might crush her, footsteps approached, and the speaker lifted her chin.

Celeste did not understand why Lucien had gifted her a new “pet,” but the real puzzle was that he had not delivered it himself, just as he had before. She had been about to return the gift, but then she saw the girl’s eyes — full of hope, innocence, and unmistakable teenage curiosity. Something fell in the pit of her stomach.

How long had it been since she had seen someone move through their day unpossessed, eyes unclouded? How long since her own light had been broken? She disliked it. She disliked this girl for having something she could never reclaim in her own life. Celeste wanted to dim that light, as her home had dimmed her own, to break her until she became like all the others: broken, shattered puppets fighting demons beyond the physical and spiritual.

“What is your name?” Celeste asked, her earlier hesitation replaced by a cold edge that made Chimamanda cower. The girl did not understand the words, assuming they were meant for the men behind her.

Another sharp slap to her head signalled the question was directed at her. Helpless, Chimamanda bowed her head.

“What is your name?” Celeste repeated, in precise French. Still, the girl remained silent.

“I said, what is your name?” Celeste pressed, her voice rising slightly. Chimamanda felt the weight of the man’s hand against her back. Her confusion and inability to understand brought tears to her eyes.

“Biko, I don’t understand what you are saying,” she whispered, voice trembling.

Celeste realized the girl did not yet understand French. Turning to the bowed woman beside her, she asked impatiently, “Does any of you understand what she said?”

Shaking their heads, both women answered, “No, Madame,” in broken French. Having served the D’Armont Mansion for years, they understood basic commands but could not interpret the girl’s words.

“What language does she speak?” Celeste asked, but silence filled the room.

Celeste recognized the sound of the language — she had heard it before. She wanted the girl to say something else but hesitated, knowing the girl wouldn’t understand anyway.

Then, a quiet, patient voice spoke from the doorway.

“Madame, the evening meal is ready,” it said, almost fluent French.

Celeste paused, realizing who it was. Nicole. The voice she had recognized.

“Come in, Nicole,” she said, returning to her cushion, signalling the silent soldiers to leave.

The door creaked open, and Chimamanda flinched. She kept her head bowed, surrendering to the impossibility of understanding someone who spoke through tightly held teeth.

Nicole entered, conversing briefly with the strange woman, and then — Chimamanda heard it. Her language, spoken so clearly and neatly, that Chimamanda’s body froze.