by Layton Green
“Something I overheard at Lucky’s club,” Grey said. “Two men made reference to an “order” made by a “Doctor.”
Viktor set his glass down for the first time, and leaned forward. “Do you remember what was said?”
“I didn’t hear much. One of them said he needed the order by Sunday, the other said that was too soon, then they argued briefly. That was pretty much all I understood, except they seemed frightened of this Doctor. They said something about his Juju. You think they were talking about Fangwa?”
Viktor’s face hardened. “They were likely discussing ingredients ordered by a money Jujuman.”
“What kind of ingredients?” Grey said warily.
“My guess would be body parts to be prepared by the Jujuman for potions and elixirs for wealthy customers.”
Nya was aghast. “In Harare?”
“I warned you. We can’t be sure if it was Doctor Fangwa they were discussing—babalawos are sometimes referred to as doctors. But if he is, then he’s either the N’anga himself, or a very dangerous man.”
The world as Grey knew it was slipping further and further away. Priests that make potions out of human body parts because people buy them? Jesus. “What it means for sure,” Grey said finally, “is that Lucky has some type of connection to whichever Jujuman those men were talking about.”
“Yes,” Viktor murmured.
“And now?” Nya said. “Do you still wish to visit Doctor Fangwa?”
“Even more. I intend to ask him why William Addison was taken—and why a babalawo would want to summon the Devil.”
27
Nya surprised Grey by calling early the next day. She asked him to meet her and Professor Radek at noon outside Doctor Fangwa’s town house. She said she’d tried to procure a more neutral location, but Doctor Fangwa would only agree to a meeting at his residence.
Grey was also surprised when Professor Radek arrived at Fangwa’s soon after they did; he half-expected another note or phone call.
Nya rapped on the narrow door, a model of professional chic in her designer sunglasses and sleek business suit. She really is a good-looking woman, Grey thought.
The door creaked open to reveal the vacant stare of the boy-servant. He appeared in the same white linens, and showed no sign of recognition. Grey noticed Viktor’s eyes latching onto the boy’s.
“This way,” the boy intoned in his emotionless voice. He shut the door behind them, and in the windowless parlor Grey had the sensation of being sealed inside a tomb.
The boy led them to the third floor again, to the same room. There Doctor Fangwa sat, in the same chair and in the same white robe, greeting them with the same skeletal grin. The whole scene again felt eerily staged, as if they could come to visit Doctor Fangwa every hour of every day, and would be greeted in an identical manner.
Nya introduced Professor Radek, and Fangwa motioned for everyone to sit. He folded his hands in his lap and turned to Nya. He grinned wider. “I am pleased you decided to return.”
“We need to ask you a few questions,” she said, with an affected brusqueness that failed to mask her discomfort.
“And you chose me.” Click-clack.
“There’s no one else.”
“Oh? Then I assume you seek more of the… specialized knowledge… you believe I possess. That also pleases me.”
Nya crossed her legs and smoothed her pants. “Doctor, there’s something we need to clear up before we proceed. I need to ask you where you were the night of December 12th. Last Friday night.”
“I was performing my duties. With my followers.”
Nya’s face twitched. “What kind of duties?”
“My duties as Cultural Attaché, of course. I was hosting a small gathering of certain of my countrymen. Is everything all right? You look… pale.”
“Where was this gathering held?” she said, her voice low.
“Here, of course.”
“I see. I assume you can verify this?”
“But of course. You may question my staff after our meeting, as you desire,” he said, inclining his head towards the boy, who had retreated to stand by the door.
Grey’s mouth compressed. He was toying with them again.
Nya glanced at the boy, then swallowed. “I suppose we can proceed for now.”
Doctor Fangwa awaited her question, his fingers now tapping spider-like, one digit at a time and in succession, on the slender wooden armrest. His face was calm as glass. Grey stole a look at Viktor, equally composed, but staring at Fangwa with the same interest with which he had studied the boy.
“Do you remember the man we discussed last time?” She said. “The babalawo?”
“Of course.”
“Mr. Grey and I attended one of his ceremonies last Friday night. We’d like to ask you a few questions concerning this.”
The Doctor’s eyes widened ever-so-slightly, and he took a long sip from a cup of tea waiting on a low table beside him. He set the tea down and his fingers resumed their movements.
“If you’ll remember,” Nya continued, “we discussed the meaning of the word n’anga, and how it does—or does not—relate to Juju. You informed us you didn’t know of any Juju rituals involving summoning.”
The Doctor’s head bobbed, as if pleased at her progress.
“We believe the N’anga was trying to summon an entity at this ceremony. We witnessed it firsthand.”
“And which entity might that be?” he asked with overt politeness, as if to a schoolgirl.
“You have, I assume, heard of Esu?”
The Doctor gave a high-pitched giggle. “I don’t believe I’ve ever heard anyone outside of my culture speak that name. Have I heard this name? Every Yoruba knows this name, every child has it whispered to them when they misbehave. The question is, do you know the meaning of this name?”
“Professor Radek informed us.”
“He did, did he?”
Viktor finally spoke. “We need to know why the N’anga was trying to summon Esu, and how that might relate to the disappearance of William Addison.”
Fangwa’s eyes never left Nya. “Juju is a complex religion, Professor. It involves a countless number of rites and ceremonies. As I told you last time,” he said, apparently switching back to Nya, “summoning has no place in Juju. We divine, we petition, we plead, we obey—we do not summon. Perhaps you should describe to me exactly what you think you’ve seen.”
Nya again told the story of the ceremony, and Grey watched the Doctor. Not a single word of the story evoked a reaction until the part where the N’anga poured the circle of blood and trapped the man inside the circle. At the mention of these facts his finger tapping became more insistent.
He allowed Nya to finish before speaking. “You’ve witnessed things you should not have witnessed.”
“Do you think he was trying to summon Esu?” Nya asked.
“If he was, he’s a fool.”
“Do you have any idea what could have happened inside that circle?”
The Doctor’s eyes shone. “Blood sacrifices are integral to Juju. The Orisa demand them. Blood is life, spirit, soul—it is an essential part of every Juju ritual.” He let his words marinate, and when he resumed he spoke with sibilant emphasis. “There is no Orisa that demands more blood than Esu. The more blood that is shed, the more suffering involved in the sacrifice, the more pleased he becomes, the more willing to grant what is asked. A ceremony involving Esu is a very tricky thing. A dangerous thing. Every precaution must be taken, the most terrible of sacrifices must be made. Only the strongest of babalawo would dare even speak his name.”
Grey said, “You mean, like you’re doing?”
Fangwa ignored the comment. “To chant his name the worshippers would have to believe they are protected by their babalawo. And to summon him?” He looked at each of them. “Either this babalawo is immensely arrogant—or he is mad.”
Grey folded his arms. He knew in his gut that Fangwa knew more than he was letting on. But why
bother with the visits, the deception, the elaborate discussions? He could hide behind his diplomatic immunity if he wanted. Grey could only think of one explanation for the subterfuge.
He wanted them closer. And seeing the way Fangwa looked at Nya, he thought he knew why.
Nya said, “So you don’t know what happened.”
“I told you I’m unfamiliar with this ritual.”
“But you have an idea, don’t you?”
“I do.”
“Please, then.”
“You have an idea also, do you not? I told you what Esu demands.”
Nya scoffed. “Are you implying Addison might’ve been sacrificed?”
“Juju is a demanding religion. True practitioners understand what is sometimes required—you yourself said this other man walked willingly into the circle.”
Grey made a choking sound. “I doubt that poor man understood what was going to happen.”
“Then perhaps he should have been more selective as to his choice of religion.”
“This is not Nigeria, Doctor,” Nya said. “You don’t understand our culture.”
“And you do not understand Juju.”
28
Grey again looked to Viktor, but the Professor appeared lost in thought. “So we’re supposed to believe,” Grey said, tired of hearing things that were not helping him find Addison, “that this Esu is being summoned, and that he comes and takes his sacrifice?”
“Must I repeat again I’m unfamiliar with this ritual? You think too literally, too Western. There is a word in Yoruba—“gùn.” I believe the closest word in English is “possession.” Perhaps it is some form of gùn that is meant by n’anga. I can assure you Esu is quite capable of spirit possession. You are familiar with this concept? I believe the Catholic Church has an elaborate set of rituals in place for possession and exorcism?”
Professor Radek proffered a curt agreement.
“Juju has its own rituals—although in Juju gùn is encouraged. Orisa are invited to possess the worshipper. It is a great honor when an Orisa decides to come and greet you.” Grey saw Nya squirm, and Fangwa seemed pleased at her discomfort. “Not Esu, though. He is never invited. A possession by Esu is a terrible thing. Only the strongest babalawos can coerce Esu to leave a body he has possessed.”
“Yes—gùn is the most plausible explanation I’ve heard,” Professor Radek said.
“Juju is open to new rituals, new forms of worship. Perhaps this babalawo does what his name claims. Perhaps he calls to Esu, and Esu comes to take his sacrifice.”
“What would he gain from such a ritual?” Viktor said.
“The one thing that pleases Esu more than sacrifice is possession. He longs to be in this world. A victim held in wait for him as a vessel for gùn—aaah.” He drew out the word with a sigh. “Such a thing would please Esu immensely.”
“The babalawo would be well rewarded,” Viktor said. “He would receive enormous power in the spirit world, and in the eyes of his followers.”
“Yes.”
“Even assuming this is true for the sake of argument, what happens to the bodies of the victims?” Grey said. “They have to go somewhere.”
“A possession by a corporeal Esu might lead to the consumption of the sacrifice.”
Grey gave a disbelieving shake of his head.
The Doctor grinned again. “Or perhaps Esu prefers to take his sacrifices with him.”
“Take them with him?” Nya said.
“Death is not the greatest fear.”
Click-clack.
Nya shrank back into her chair.
“Or perhaps,” Viktor said, “the N’anga isn’t summoning anything at all, but wants his followers to believe otherwise. The effect on his worshippers would be the same. If he’s believed to be summoning Esu, he’d be one of the most feared babalawo in the history of Juju.”
“My my, Professor, such an ambitious statement.”
Grey felt like shouting at both of them, but he pushed his words out with frustrated precision. “That still doesn’t explain what happens to the people in the circle.”
No one answered.
“Come, doctor,” Professor Radek said. “We’ve indulged your fantasies, and I commend your theatrical abilities. Now let’s return to reality.”
Doctor Fangwa turned his attention to Professor Radek for the first time, and the two men locked eyes: Viktor impassive and imposing, Fangwa possessed of a spectral calm.
Fangwa’s fingers began a rhythmic tapping on his wooden chair. “Is now when I explain to you how Juju is not real? When I explain what happens to the sacrifices? When I give you the Western explanation for why the man was unable to leave his prison of air?”
Viktor ignored Fangwa’s questions. “What’s the purpose of the fog?”
“No one is able to look fully upon the face of an Orisa. The babalawo takes precautions.”
“Or perhaps hiding a well-planned ruse? His choice of victim: is there any rhyme or reason?”
Fangwa answered in a mocking tone. “A babalawo does nothing at random.”
His answer caused Viktor to pause before pressing forward. “This babalawo wears red robes. I’ve never heard of a babalawo wearing any color other than white. How do you account for this?”
“And how many true babalawos do you know? How many have come to lecture in your classroom?”
They measured each other in silence until Nya interrupted. “Doctor, please. We need your expertise.”
Doctor Fangwa rotated towards Nya with a smooth motion of his neck. A slow, skeletal smile crept onto his face. Nya shrank again. He said, “Red is the color of sacrifice, and of Esu. The babalawo believes he has gained the favor of Esu. It is a bold choice.”
“There must be something you can tell us about his choice of victims,” Viktor said. “There has to be some connection, some reason he selects the ones he does. Some reason he chose William Addison rather than a villager whose disappearance wouldn’t have provoked an investigation.” Viktor leaned in. “Who would you choose? If you were making the choice of sacrifice?”
Fangwa’s fingers began tapping faster, and he turned back to Viktor. “Perhaps you, Professor. You are a proud man. The suffering you would undergo as the knife strips away your gall would please Esu greatly.”
Viktor smirked and stared at Doctor Fangwa. Grey thought Fangwa had delivered that last statement with way too much familiarity.
Nya interrupted again with an uneasy hand motion, a failed attempt to lessen the tension. “The Professor’s just trying to understand the N’anga’s motives. What do you suggest we do to find him?”
“I suggest you cease your investigation. He has a purpose for being here. He will accomplish his purpose, and he will leave.”
“I’m afraid that’s not an option,” she said.
“Then you will likely die.”
“That’s a convenient answer,” Grey said, “if you’re the man we’re looking for.”
He asked the question to judge Fangwa’s reaction, but Fangwa took it in stride. “Nya, please allow me to escort these gentlemen out. You and I shall have tea and continue our discussion with civility.”
Nya managed a courteous smile, although a child could have told it was forced. “I’m afraid I don’t have time. I have one more question, however.”
“Of course, my dove.”
Click-clack.
“Why were we left alone and unconscious at the ceremony? When he could have taken or killed us?”
“I told you—a babalawo does not kill without purpose, without ritual. He will take you when he is ready. Until then, he might taunt you or mark you, let you know your death is imminent. This will increase your fear, which will increase the power of the sacrifice.”
“What do you mean by mark?” Grey said. “Would that be leaving a dead monkey in a bedroom?”
Fangwa tittered. “Describe.”
“The monkey was surrounded by dirt, and had been mutilated.”
�
�A monkey lying in dirt in your residence is a symbol of your own grave. What was done to the monkey symbolizes what will be done to you. Before your death.”
Grey grimaced and said, “And a pillar of mud, with three rounded marks?”
“The mark of Esu. Surely you have not seen these things in person? If so, that would be most unfortunate.”
“Enough,” Viktor commanded. “We’re finished here.” He stood, towering over Doctor Fangwa. “I suggest,” he said in a low voice, “you use your time in Harare to concentrate on your duties as Cultural Attaché.” He stood, and Grey and Nya stood with him.
“And I suggest,” Fangwa said as they left the room, stretched face gleaming, “that you return to the safety of the lecture hall.”
• • •
Grey and Nya followed the Professor into the welcoming daylight. Doctor Fangwa made Grey more uncomfortable than anyone he had ever met.
“There was nothing more to be gained in there,” Viktor said. “He’ll tell us only what he wants us to know, and even that we must question.”
“Do you think he’s the N’anga?” Grey asked.
“It’s very possible.”
Nya said, “But I checked his alibi-”
“I suggest you check again. Regardless, this is a very dangerous man. I assume you know he’s babalawo?”
“Yes.”
“I believe he’s babalawo of the worst kind. A money Jujuman, a babalawo without principle. I’m sure you noticed the boy in the house—it’s customary for Jujumen to keep one or more of these servants around. They’re virtual zombies, enslaved through fear and narcotics.”
“He’s repulsive, but he’s our only real source of information,” Nya said.
“This man helps no one. What did he tell us? He was taunting us.”
“We still need the link between the N’anga and William Addison,” Grey said, “and we need to look into Fangwa’s alibi. And then,” Grey said, his voice hardening, “there’s Lucky.”
Viktor looked at Grey. “Be sure not to let a personal vendetta cloud your judgment.”
“Of course not,” Grey murmured.
Nya unlocked the car. “I’m tired of dealing in rumor and conjecture. We need something to use for a warrant.”
