by Gayl Jones
I read:
The Brazilians are beasts who work all their lives
To maintain the rascals of Portugal.
I handed it back to him. He placed it under the other papers. “By Gregorio de Mattos,” he said. “Some traveler gave it to me.
“There are poetasters everywhere in Brazil, but no printers. I’m a bit of a bard myself. I’m writing my own national episodes.”
“What’s it about?” I asked.
“A man’s travels,” he said. “Travels. It’s a satire on the whole society . . . But such books must always have one good man, one ‘el Bueno,’ one idealist, one searcher for Truth. Don’t you think that’s so?”
I started to answer. Luiza was laughing. I opened my eyes and she was sitting in her hammock, staring at me.
I closed my eyes to hear what else the man would say, but he was not there, only the strange interconnected trees, the leaves moving softly, as if they had joined Luiza in her mirth.
“It’s a banyan tree, árvore de banyan,” she said, letting me know that she could see my vision too. “It’s a sacred tree in the East.”
I opened my eyes and looked at her.
“I am the granddaughter of an Azande woman,” she said. “When she was back in the other country, a woman was not admitted into the inner circle. All of the witch doctors were men. Women and only old ones were allowed to do anything—and this was only the very lowly position of being a leech. They said she was not old enough even to be a leech, but she persisted, and they allowed her that. They said they liked a woman who stood on her own feet and fought for what she believed in, and worked at the difficulties, and showed some dignity. They praised her, but kept her in that position. But she refused to keep to that position because she wanted to cure spiritual ailments as the men did. It was then that they accused her of witchcraft. Only because she wanted to be a curer of witches as they were. But she was not a witch. A witch is a very evil thing. She wanted to be a curer of witches.”
“What became of her?”
“There was a certain man who ‘cured’ her of witchcraft, even though he did not believe the others’ suspicions. When she was cured, she paid him her fees to learn from him and learned from him all she could, and then she came here.”
“Did she come here on her own?”
“She said so.”
I was silent.
“My mother, under the influence of Benedictine priests, would have nothing to do with her magic, but I wanted it.”
“How can you tell a witch from a curer of witches?” I asked.
“Do they cause harm or good?” she asked.
“Suppose good for one is harm for another?”
She did not reply. She got up and went into the back room, locking the door.
I started to get up and go into the front room and examine the various bottles and wooden figurines that were on the shelves, but was afraid to, not knowing what magic they contained and because my grandmother had said that the same things that can cause good can cause harm if in ignorant hands. I would wait to see whether she would decide to teach me. I lay down in the hammock, restless.
I remembered a conversation my mother and grandmother had had. I had been four or five, so it had meant little to me then.
“How do you know whether it’s revelation or illusion?” my mother had asked. “How do you know you’re not simply a madwoman?”
My grandmother had replied that in some societies mad people were considered mystics, that they were considered to be divine.
“And their hallucinations taken as realities,” said my mother.
“Do you think I’m a liar?”
“I think you believe what you tell me.”
“Then you think I believe lies?” persisted my grandmother. My mother said nothing.
“Maybe it’s best not to argue it,” said my grandmother. She touched my forehead. “Here’s one who will leave one world to explore another and multiply the possibilities of choice.”
My mother looked frightened and put her hand on my grandmother’s arm and drew it away. Then she lifted me and put me in the hammock with her.
“They say he’s cold to the touch and gives no pleasure. Do you think I would want such a one?” asked my grandmother.
Three masked witch doctors stood in front of her. They were wearing leopard skins and gourds and whistles hung from their waists.
“You were seen rubbing yourself with devil’s grease and changing into a goat.”
“I don’t want to be simply a leech. I want some knowledge of the spirits’ forces.”
“You were seen changing into a weasel, a mole, a bat, and a horse, and a big, white, bearded man came and kissed you on the lips, and you were seen giving him turnips to eat.”
“Do you think I would want such a one?”
“Tell us how you affected the transformations. Tell us about your rendezvous with the devil.”
“It’s a tiresome story. We met at the Harz Mountains in Germany and at Blakulla in Sweden and at La Hendaze in France. Long, difficult travels.”
“She admits! Tell us how the devil equips himself?”
“There are a multiplicity of possibilities. But how should I know which ones are real and which illusions?”
“Banish her to Brazil, the filthy woman.”
One man stepped forward, “No, I’ll cure her.”
“With what, roots and wild honey?” asked one.
“No,” said the man. “Experience and intuition.”
He came towards her. “I like a woman who stands on her own feet, and works against difficulties, and shows dignity.”
I awoke to the smell of onion soup, coconut, and wild honey.
The Apprentice
I DON‘T EAT MEAT OF ANY KIND,” she said, as we sat on mats on the floor, eating supper. The mats were not square but triangular. “It weakens the spirit.”
She explained to me that it was her belief that the characteristics of the thing eaten would come into one.
I said nothing as I ate the onion soup and manioc cakes, the coconut meat, and drank coconut milk mixed with wild honey.
“That will keep you healthy and keep you from going insane,” she said. “I will teach you some of what I know, the rest you will have to add onto. Perhaps you will never be admitted into the inner circle. Who knows? Have you anything of value?”
“No,” I said.
“Give me that necklace.”
She pointed to the necklace of seeds and shells I was wearing.
“I can’t part with it,” I said. “It’s a gift from Anninho. Anyway, it has no value in money.”
“Did I say value in money? Then return the bracelet I gave you.”
I took off the bracelet and handed it to her. She put it back on her own wrist.
“A pupil must always pay fees,” she said. “I am the older woman. Do you think you can lie your way into eternity in the same manner?”
I was silent.
She rose and went into the front room. When she came back she had a small bowl, which she gave to me to drink from.
“Drink this,” she said. “It will strengthen your soul.” I drank the liquid and handed the bowl back to her.
“I’ll teach you how to prepare it along with other magical and medicinal potions,” she said. “You’re not my only apprentice, but I’ll teach you in private. Your soul is very weak, so how can you meet in the company of others? Perhaps when your soul is stronger . . . or perhaps you will never be in the inner circle.”
I looked at her. How was I to know if she were speaking the truth or lying? Was she a woman speaking lies? Should I believe her?
“Intuition and experience,” she said suddenly. Then she laughed. “I am everywhere. Those who do not know me as Zibatra or Moraze believe that this is ‘The Library and Philosophical Society for the Moral and Intellectual Advancement of Free Coloured Women.’ It’s that too.” She went to the door of the back room, unlocked it and swung it open and let me see all t
he books it contained, but would not let me enter. “It’s a good collection,” she said. “Very good. It reminds you of his, doesn’t it? Of Father Tollinare’s library of forbidden books. Do you think it’s something of value? A good library is the architecture of opportunity. I just acquired A Manual of Tropical Medicine. Some things I’ve corrected. I should write my own. I know as much about the medicine of the tropics as anyone. I won’t deny my own knowledge.”
She kept looking at me as if she were laughing at me, or as if there were some private joke. She came back and sat down beside me.
“After you learn what I tell you, you will learn what’s in that room.” I looked at her.
“You poor soul,” she said. “O inocente. Do you think it will take till the end of the world?! Would you rather that I showed you Pindamonhangaba Road and you accompanied some stranger to the gold mines at Minas Gerais?”
“No,” I said with a laugh.
Secret Remedies
I CANNOT BE SPECIFIC IN THIS PART of the history, as the knowledge that I learned is secret and to reveal anything secret is to lose the power that it has. I will say that I was given more medicines to strengthen my soul, because Luiza said that my soul was very weak and that even after I had completed my apprenticeship, that I would not be able to challenge the spiritual powers of others such as herself, and that the cures I had affected could only be done in private, and that no one would come to me as they came to her, for they would instantly see the weakness of my position, and would have little faith in my cures. I would have no effect on strangers, as she had, but only on those who knew me well and whom I could protect in secret. And she continued to call me O inocente.
“You begin from a position of weakness and not one of strength,” she had said. “But you will progress in knowledge. Now you are a novice. But don’t believe, however, that you can ever challenge the powers of such a woman as myself and certainly not the paje’s daughter, Maite, who controls spiritual forces that are even unknown to me. It is hard to conceive of you as a medicine woman, O inocente, but perhaps through silence and fasting and chastity we can purify your soul. But of course your magic will never be active but always passive.”
She drew symbols on my skin, some geometric, others strange animals and symbolic creatures that looked like serpents and birds but were neither. She gave me an amulet, a painted eye, that I must wear in some secret place and that must never be seen by anyone.
“No one?”
“Perhaps Anninho, when the time comes. But no one else. And I’ve seen it—as one’s nakedness is seen at birth—but even I must not see it again, or it will lose its power.”
“To protect or harm?”
“Is it not an object of protection?” she asked.
I was shown the mystical serpent Iararaca and the magic plant Ipecacuanha, and another plant that shriveled up when she touched it, but that remained whole when I placed my hand on it, and so she said it would become my “power plant” as the Ipecacuanha was hers.
I was shown many trees and plants and told of the medicines they contained, to do both harm and good. I learned about those that everyone knows: the copaiba tree and how to get sap from it when the moon was full, how one cures wounds and bruises without leaving a scar; she tapped the plant and rubbed it on my bosom, removing the scars that were there, praying and chanting along with its application.
“This is the female copaiba. It does not work with the male tree. This is how you tell the difference. You see the holes and scratches here?
“Some animals, wounded, have sought it as a cure. God puts things like this about for all his creatures. Some are wiser even than we humans in knowledge of the healing power of plants. This is better than all the magic salves in Europe.”
I learned about the caborahiba, another tree that produces balsam. I learned of its ordinary uses and uses that were not commonly known. I learned of the obira paramacaci that could be either a purge or a fatal poison.
I found my “magic plant” the “herva viva” growing in many places. Whenever Luiza or anyone else touched it, it would recoil. But when I touched it, it would remain whole, and even become stronger and greener. Sometimes it would flower.
“It has special powers for you to discover,” she said.
I learned of other plants not commonly known, and of the magic powers of ordinary plants—not only medicinal powers, but also powers to affect the spirit, the emotions, the intellect, the will. But these I cannot name particularly here, as such information must be given only to one’s apprentices, or those other doctors who sell and buy medicines among themselves, and exchange secrets.
“There will be some knowledge that you yourself will discover, that will be yours alone, that you will not wish to exchange with anyone.”
I learned to generate a certain phlegm that was beneficial to the soul and body. I learned how to prepare many things, how to cook and stir them, what incantations or prayers to pray over them.
My body was rubbed with oil and ashes. I was taken all about the district to learn rare medicines—from both plants and animals—and I learned many medical secrets. “As I said, some of these you will learn more from than I have taught you, as everyone must make her own discoveries. But remember, your power will not work against mine. O inocente, you cannot challenge me.”
I was taught dances and songs.
“These dances and songs anyone can learn and fool the people with. They are not the true magic.”
I was told to observe chastity, even though I had been observing it for some time now. I fasted. I was given more medicines to strengthen my soul.
“I cannot give you the gift of prophecy,” she said. “That cannot come from me. Though in the other country my grandmother said that the old man gave her medicines to eat and drink which not only made her soul strong, but gave her the ability to prophesy. But I cannot grant you such a power. But you will know it if it comes. Then you will hear what others cannot hear, and see what is invisible to others. All I can teach you are rites of healing magic, and actions necessary to the future, but not how to perceive it. I will give you the rudiments. But most of your progression in knowledge will be on your own. That is the way for all students. You are given the rudiments, and then you add to the knowledge. You make discoveries on your own. And maybe that will be to the end of the world!”
She told me about her belief in reincarnation.
Finally, I was given more medicines to eat and drink, and then I was covered by a triangular mat, and earth was heaped on top of me. I don’t know how many days I remained that way—perhaps three days, perhaps a week—but I felt neither tiredness nor hunger. When this ritual was complete, she told me to rise. I got to my feet, and she rubbed medicines into my body, and I was given a new name.
“What of Almeyda?” I asked.
“That’s your name. But a new name must be given for the new person.”
She decorated me with feathers and bracelets and anklets of seeds and shells. She tied calabashes and a magic whistle around my waist, and a horn filled with herbal medicines.
“Jaguara,” she said, kissing my forehead.
Armadillo
WE MIXED THE THICK GUMMY JUICE with the oil from the iguaragua, the emus. We squeezed the testicles of a certain lizard. A nauseating odor. We gathered the feathers of eagles, falcons, hawks, forest hens, partridges, pigeons, doves, wild ducks, parrots, macaws, tuyns, seabirds, the red ibis. She made a dish of bananas, pineapple, Brazil nuts, mixing it inside the shell of an armadillo.
I was taught to recognize many poisons, and was made to be immune to those poisons and to be immune against the venom of the sucuryuba and the tapukara.
A liniment of a red color was prepared for my face and then Luiza sent me into the library and locked the door behind me. I would stay in there several days at a time, eating nothing but the meat from a coconut, and drinking liquid from the armadillo shell. There was something else she gave me. Was it the shredded bark from a supernatural t
ree?
The books in the library I will not list, though they were mostly medical and religious and natural histories. The medical books spoke of Egyptian, European, Algerian, Chinese medicines, among others. Many of them she had scratched and written in, making corrections. In some of the pages were scattered grains of gold like ordinary dust.
Acts of Cruelty and Sadism
DURING THE DAYS I was not in the library studying, Luiza and I would travel together, searching for rare medicinal plants, and new uses for old plants; we would visit doctors in other territories and exchange ideas, buy and sell medicines, observe new remedies. We would visit certain plantations. We visited only those on which the slaves received cruel and sadistic abuse. We would visit them only during the night. Before we would enter, Luiza would rub a special oil and ashes from a special plant on our skin. Then we were “safe” and we could enter and give instructions to the “nurses”—old women who directed the plantation “hospitals”—the huts of those women who were too old to work any longer in the field.
Luiza would supply these women with salves and medicines besides the salts and emetics that the plantation owners would give them to cure all manner of ailments, from mal de bicho to epileptic fits. Then we would remain with the nurses and visit those of her patients who had special difficulties. We treated women who had induced miscarriages and who had aborted themselves so that their children would not be born into the horror that they themselves had been born into. But because of her belief in reincarnation, Luiza claimed that she herself did not perform abortions. “Perhaps they will pay more dearly in another life,” she would say, and then she would speak mysteriously of how she had lived through her horror in this one and saw in the future her “glory days.”
She told me: “There’s a contraceptive plant that I’ve been trying to find, so that these women can prevent conception before it occurs. Maite knows it, but she won’t exchange the secret with me, though it is not her last mystery.” What she meant by “last mystery” is that each doctor kept some final secret, some final “trick”—that was usually self-discovered or inherited—that was revealed to no one. However, it usually involved some spiritual maneuver or stratagem, rather than a physical or material one, as the former were more difficult to come by.
