Hoodoo

by Ronald L. Smith

  Later on, after Bunny had gone back home, Mama Frances fried up some chicken livers in a black iron skillet. Usually I liked liver and grits, but I wasn’t hungry. She sat across the table from me and watched me fiddle with my food. She reached out and put her hand on my forehead. “You feel warm, boy.”

  “I’m okay,” I answered.

  “Mm-hmm,” she said. “You sit right there a minute.”

  She got up and opened a tin sitting by the stove, then took out some little jars and boxes and set them down. Next, she put some milk on the coal stove and lit the fire. She started humming.

  “What you doing, Mama Frances?”

  “You just sit tight. Gonna make something to help that fever pass.”

  After the milk was hot, she poured it into a cup and then mixed in some of the stuff she took out of the box. A funny smell rose up in the air, like something burning. She walked over and set the cup down in front of me. I thought about that elixir Aunt Jelly had made a while back. I hoped this one wasn’t as strong.

  “You go ahead and drink that, baby,” she said. “Then carry yourself upstairs to bed.”

  I lowered my head and sniffed it. “What’s in it?”

  Mama Frances blew out a breath and leaned back a little. “That’s just some dog fennel. It’ll do you right, boy.”

  I’d never heard of dog fennel, but I figured Mama Frances knew what she was doing, so I picked it up and drank it down. It didn’t taste too bad—kind of plain, like I was sucking on some leaves. She watched me drink it all, and when I set down the cup, put her hand on my forehead again. “You go on upstairs, Hoodoo. Close your eyes and count your numbers.”

  I headed up the steps.

  The next thing I knew, I was flying.

  A flattened penny sparkled in the sun. I was looking down at the railroad tracks from way up above.

  I smelled wildflowers and heard dragonflies buzzing in the air, saw fields of sugar cane and white bulbs of cotton.

  It felt real. Maybe I was in the spirit world. Mrs. Snuff said I could travel in the land of spirits. I wasn’t sure I wanted to, but it looked like I was.

  The last thing I remembered was Mama Frances making me that drink and then counting my numbers.

  But now here I was.

  Somewhere.

  Black shapes moved behind my eyelids, like smoke and swirling water. I felt a pull, like the wind wanted me to go a certain direction. I followed it—past tall treetops and birds’ nests, over little rivers and swamps, above soot-stained chimneys and yards with dogs and children running in circles. I could see it all. I was flying!

  And then I smelled something bad.

  Like that time a possum got stuck under our house and died. The smell was coming from a little broke-down shack. It was a pitiful place, with tall weeds, a twisted fence, and an old truck tire in the front. Burned, black tree branches made a little hill where someone had once lit a fire. And then I saw a bunch of things inside my head all at the same time: a hole in the ground with fire shooting out of it, a goat with yellow eyes, and a swarm of flies as big as a cloud.

  Hoodoo?

  I knew that voice. It was Mrs. Snuff’s. She must’ve been in the spirit world too.

  What you doing, boy?

  I don’t know. Am I dreaming?

  You flyin’, child, like all our people used to.

  The Stranger. I gotta find him.

  I felt Mrs. Snuff sigh, like wind across my face.

  You ain’t ready for that, boy. Now go back to your body. Just think about home and your Mama Frances. And your little lady friend. Bunny?

  I didn’t want to go back. I felt powerful. I was flying. I could do anything!

  Hoodoo? Her voice was like a whisper tickling my brain. Listen.

  But I didn’t.

  I felt cool air on my face. A black shadow was over my head. I flinched and looked up. It was the crow. Careful, Hoodoo, the crow squawked. Bad juju here.

  Mrs. Snuff’s voice had gone quiet. Maybe I’d shut it out of my mind, but I wasn’t sure. The crow flapped its wings and I followed it, down to where it settled on the wooden slats of the porch. Caw! Caw! it cried, bobbing its midnight-black head in the direction of a splintered door. I thought about what Mama Frances said, that the crow could be a trickster. But it helped me the last time I saw the Stranger. Maybe it would again. I took a breath and felt myself pass through the door.

  I couldn’t see my arms or legs or any part of my body, but it felt like I was really there, inside that shack. Things were a little fuzzy, like I was looking through a dirty mirror. The room was cold, and ashes glowed in the fireplace. I felt myself settle, like I’d just swooped down from the air and landed on my feet.

  I looked around the room. This was the Stranger’s house. I knew it. I could feel him, just like Mrs. Snuff could.

  I’ve been feeling his presence in the town, like a black shadow creeping across the sun.

  And then I heard it. Something I’d hoped I’d never hear again:

  I sold my soul to the devil; he won’t let me alone.

  That was his song. The Stranger’s. It floated all around the room, but I didn’t see him.

  I live down in the valley, five hundred steps.

  Something moved at the corner of my eye. I turned.

  A black shape flowed down the chimney like molasses and oozed on the floor. I blinked, and a second later, it rose up into the shape of a man.

  I see you, boy.

  The Stranger shot out of the fireplace with a roar, flames licking all around him. His feet looked like a goat’s, split in two. Red coals burned where his eyes should’ve been. My heart pounded in my chest. I could feel it even though I couldn’t see myself. The Stranger turned his head left, then right, nostrils sniffing the air.

  Think you’re brave, boy? Show yourself. Give me that hand! Mandragore!

  Even though I didn’t have a body, I stayed still, barely breathing. The demon turned his ugly neck back and forth, snorting and sniffing. And then I felt his eyes pass right over me.

  He couldn’t see me!

  I heard Mrs. Snuff’s voice coming from far away, floating through the heavy air. Come back to your body, child! I said you ain’t strong enough!

  But I remembered something else she said:

  Don’t make no sense for a boy named Hoodoo . . . to not know hoodoo.

  I’m not afraid of you! I shouted at the demon, balling my left hand into a fist. It was tingling like a swarm of angry bees.

  The Stranger turned his head.

  Hoodoo! Mrs. Snuff cried. No!

  And that’s when the demon stretched out his arm. It was too long, like a piece of black licorice, stretching and stretching.

  And then he touched me.

  Freezing cold went right through me, like I’d just put my hand in an icebox.

  The Stranger yanked at my left hand, like he was trying to pull it out of its socket. Sharp nails scraped my invisible skin. I heard the crow screaming, but I couldn’t see it.

  Gimme that hand, boy! the demon cried.

  I tried to pull away, but he wouldn’t let go. The Stranger’s mouth opened, and it was way too big, like the mouth of a cave, as black as a moonless night.

  Nooooo! I screamed.

  And then there was darkness.

  From Darkness to Light

  I floated in a black space without a body.

  It was cold, but I didn’t have arms to hug myself. If I could’ve shivered inside my invisible skin, I would’ve.

  I tried to move but couldn’t. The only thing that made me know I was still me was my thoughts, just floating . . . floating . . .

  Slowly, it all came back to me. I was flying in the spirit world. I had seen him. The Stranger. And I’d heard the crow. And Mrs. Snuff, too. She tried to warn me.

  The force of a thunderbolt clapped inside my head.

  I felt a pull, like something yanking at me. I heard voices and saw shapes, but everything was foggy, like looking at a reflec
tion in a scum-covered pond.

  “Hoodoo!”

  A voice!

  “HOODOO!”

  I woke up. Mama Frances leaned over me.

  “What happened?” I asked. I was in my room. On the darn floor. My mouth was as dry as old hay, and my bones hurt.

  Mama Frances helped me up to the edge of the bed. “You screamed,” she said. “What have you been doing, child?”

  I had to think quick. “It was a dream,” I lied. “One of those nightmares.”

  “You see that crow again?”

  “No ma’am.”

  She let out a long sigh and sat down on the bed. Then she looked dead at me. “I want you to tell me what’s happening, Hoodoo. I know you think you’re grown, but you ain’t. If there’s trouble, me and your Pa Manuel need to know about it.”

  I tried to look away, but her eyes locked on me and wouldn’t let go.

  “I’m going to ask you again,” she said. “What have you gotten yourself into?”

  I stared at the floor. A little moonlight came in through the window and made her face shine. An owl hooted and I almost jumped. “I’m okay,” I said. “Promise.”

  Mama Frances shook her head back and forth and then rose off the bed. “Child, there are things in this world you don’t know nothing about. Terrible things. We need to know you’re safe.”

  I gulped.

  “You stay right there a minute. I need to do something.”

  She left the room. I heard the floor creaking as she walked downstairs.

  Was I doing the right thing? What would she say if I told her about flying in the spirit world, seeing Mrs. Snuff, and everything else?

  I was thinking hard on that when I heard heavy footsteps and the door swung back open. Mama Frances was carrying a pail of water. She set it on the floor. “Hold still,” she said. She knelt down a little and groaned, like it hurt. My feet dangled off the bed. She picked up my left foot, then cupped her hand and poured some water over it. She did the same thing with the other one, saying some prayers the whole time.

  “The Lord watches over you, Hoodoo,” she said. “He is the shade at your right hand.”

  Mama Frances’s hands felt good, holding my feet like that, spilling the water over them. Jesus washed His disciples’ feet. He did it to show humility. Humility is showing people you don’t think you’re better than them, if you didn’t know.

  I closed my eyes. Mama Frances started singing a church song, one that I knew well:

  Yes, we’ll gather at the river,

  the beautiful, the beautiful river.

  Gather with the saints at the river

  that flows by the throne of God.

  She started humming then, in the same rhythm as the song. I wanted to stay right there, safe with Mama Frances. I had to protect her. Her fate was in my hands.

  Why did the Stranger want my hand?

  I didn’t have a whole lot of time to think about it, because the next thing I knew, it was morning and birds were singing outside my window.

  Rat Bone

  I didn’t wake up on my own like I usually did. Mama Frances had to come upstairs and shake me. She made me drink three glasses of water and watched while I did it. She also gave me some more of that dog potion. I remembered she’d washed my feet before I went to sleep.

  The whole while I walked to Bunny’s, I thought about what happened yesterday. I couldn’t get that picture of the Stranger out of my head. I see you, boy. And then he oozed out of the fireplace, all black and slimy.

  Think you’re brave, boy? Show yourself. Give me that hand!

  “Hoodoo?”

  “Hoodoo?”

  “Huh?”

  Bunny looked at me like I was crazy. “I asked if you were hungry.”

  We were at her house, sitting on the couch, but not too close together. It smelled like lemons and peppermint candy. There was nice furniture and a rug on the floor, too. Pictures of Jesus hung on the walls, along with one of Bunny’s mama and daddy in their church clothes.

  I wiped some sweat off my head. I didn’t want to wipe it on her furniture, so I balled my hand into a fist and then didn’t know what to do with it. I just wanted to get that cat’s-eye stone and a rat bone.

  “No,” I said. “Mama Frances made me Cream of Wheat before I left.”

  “I like grits better,” she said.

  I was about to tell her that I did too, but her mama came walking out from the kitchen. I smelled her perfume all the way across the room. It made me think of fresh rain and strawberries.

  “Hoodoo Hatcher,” she said, hands on hips. “I haven’t seen you all summer. Now, how’ve you been doing?”

  I swallowed. “Hi, Miss Viola,” I said. “I’m fine.”

  “Good, good,” she said. “And how’s Miss Frances?”

  “She’s fine, ma’am.”

  “Well, you tell her I said hello. Okay?”

  “Yes ma’am.”

  Miss Viola stood there a second, looking at the both of us. Then she shook her head, gave a little smile, and walked back into the kitchen. I guess she thought we were cute or something. Bunny turned to me and rolled her eyes.

  Just when I was about to ask Bunny about Ozzie’s ring, her mother came back in, carrying something on a plate. “Got some fresh lemonade right here,” she said, setting two tall glasses down on the low table in front of us. “It’s Bunny’s favorite. Isn’t it, baby?”

  Bunny reached for her glass. “Yes ma’am,” she said. “It’s sweet.”

  “Just like you, baby girl.”

  Bunny rolled her eyes again. Her mother tilted her head sideways. “Girl,” she said. I thought Bunny was about to get in trouble for giving some sass, but then her mama started laughing, and Bunny laughed along with her. They were just messing with each other.

  Miss Viola wasn’t as serious as Mama Frances. She was more like Aunt Jelly, with her pretty clothes and painted lips. Her face lit up in a smile. “When you finish that lemonade, you both can have one peppermint candy.”

  Bunny eyed the glass-covered dish on the table.

  “Just one,” her mother said.

  “Yes ma’am,” we both answered at the same time.

  “Now, you two have fun,” she said. “Don’t go running off too far, you hear?”

  “Yes ma’am,” we both said again.

  She went back through the kitchen. Me and Bunny picked up our glasses at the same time. She raised her glass in the air.

  “What do you want to toast to?” she asked.

  “Toast?”

  “That’s when you wish on something and touch glasses. Raise yours up.”

  I raised my glass so it was right next to hers.

  “Here’s to putting evil back in its place,” she said.

  I figured that was a good one, so we clinked our glasses together and then both took a sip. I sucked my lips. Bunny’s mama was right. It was the sweetest lemonade I’d ever tasted.

  Bunny looked toward the kitchen and then turned back to me. She took something out of her pocket—a handkerchief with flowers stitched on it. “Ozzie said you could keep it,” she whispered. “I told him all about your troubles, and he said he wanted to help.”

  She took the ring out of the hankie and handed it to me. I guess they called it a cat’s-eye because that’s exactly what it looked like. The stone was gold like honey, and a white line ran right down the middle. A silver band held it in place.

  “You sure he said it’s okay?” I asked. I couldn’t see how somebody would just give away a ring this pretty.

  “Yup,” she said. “Ozzie has all kinds of stuff. He’s what you call a businessman. C’mon. Let’s go outside.”

  I drank the last of my lemonade, and Bunny grabbed two peppermint candies from the glass dish. She handed me one, and I stuck it in my pocket for later.

  Outside, she took out her knife. “Use this,” she said, handing it to me.

  I unfolded it and then started digging at the stone. After a minute or tw
o, it popped out and landed at my feet. I picked it up. The sun made it shine and sparkle.

  “Now we need to find a rat bone,” she said. “Right?”

  “Right,” I answered. “One rat bone.”

  I already had the broken piece of chain. I’d collected it a long time ago, when I found that bird skull. Maybe I somehow knew I was gonna need it one day. Was that fate? I wasn’t sure.

  We walked around to the back of Bunny’s house. There was a bunch of junk spread out in the yard: an old wheelbarrow turned on its side, a truck tire with flowers growing out of it, and a rusted outhouse in the tall weeds. The ground was muddy from the rain a few days ago, and I got some on my shoes. That made me think about my backside at the carnival, and I felt foolish all over again.

  We searched around in the grass and the damp dirt by the outhouse, even walking farther out and into the cotton field. I saw a dead rabbit, but that just wouldn’t do.

  “What’s this?” Bunny said, looking down.

  It was a dead rat, lying on its side, under some dried-out cotton bulbs, little feet curled up to its body, like it was praying.

  “How am I gonna get the bone out?” I asked her.

  Bunny looked at the rat. “Well, like my daddy said, there’s only one way to skin a cat.”

  “Or a rat,” I said.

  Skinning a rat was the last thing I wanted to do. I didn’t even know how.

  “Well,” Bunny said, “first we gotta cut it down the middle.”

  I gulped. She said it like it was nothing—like she was asking me if I wanted more lemonade or something. I thought about the dead hog I saw that time with my cousin Zeke.

  I swallowed, took a deep breath, and looked down at the rat. Two long teeth stuck out of its mouth.

  “Go ’head, Hoodoo.”