As I stepped into the clearing in front of the lake, a cloud passed over the sun, shadowing everything with gray. Superstitious folk would have taken this as an omen and shivered with apprehension, but I wasn’t superstitious and I wasn’t afraid of Mama Lou. Once, years and years ago when I was a very little girl and not yet familiar with the swamp, I had lost my way and was very frightened and Mama Lou had come and taken me by the hand and led me back home, never saying a word. She had “seen” me lost, I knew, and had come to my rescue. After that, I had often slipped off to visit her, fascinated by the wizened old Negro woman who had the sight and was so wise.
I could smell the herbs growing in the walled garden and the overwhelming scent of the poppies that grew in wild profusion behind the house. Folk marveled that Mama Lou was able to make so many exotic things grow in the swamp, said it was black magic. She used the herbs in making her medicines, used the poppies, too, and the bark of several trees. I approached the verandah, carrying the cheese and eggs, and the screen door opened. Mama Lou stepped out onto the verandah. She was not at all surprised to see me. She was holding a small brown glass bottle full of thick liquid.
“I has the medicine,” she said.
She knew. She had been expecting me.
“I’ve brought you some eggs and cheese, Mama Lou. I saved the best eggs, and I made the cheese myself.”
Mama Lou nodded grimly and examined me with piercing black-brown eyes that always seemed to see so much more. She was small and stooped and gnarled, with a bony, nut-brown face that was a network of overlapping creases and wrinkles. Her lips were barely visible, her chin a hard, jutting knob. She wore a shapeless flowered blue smock, much faded, and a pair of cracked brown leather slippers that were too large for her feet.
“You doan have to bring me gifts, chile,” she said in her raspy voice.
“I wanted you to have the eggs and cheese,” I told her. “I—I would have brought some sugar, too, but there was just a little left in the canister.”
“All these years little Dana comes to see Mama Lou. She isn’t afraid of me like the others.”
“You’re my friend,” I said simply.
Mama Lou nodded again, still examining me. Something seemed to be bothering her. One of her cats, an enormous, furry marmalade, came around the corner of the verandah and curled itself against her legs, looking up at me with visible hostility. Ebenezer wasn’t black, like the last one had been, but he was just as intimidating. Folk said Mama Lou’s cats were her “familiars” and could transform themselves into different creatures. All witches had cats who acted on their orders.
“You knew I was coming,” I said.
“Mama Lou knew.”
“Ma had a bad turn, and—”
“I has the medicine you came for.”
“Ma—Ma’s going to be all right; isn’t she?”
She ignored the question, those black-brown eyes aglow as she continued to study me. Several long moments passed, and I felt vaguely uneasy, gripping the handle of the basket, tiny streams of perspiration dripping down my back. Mama Lou grimaced and, reaching out, lightly touched my cheek. Her fingertips were as soft as velvet and seemed to vibrate with power.
“You is growing up,” she rasped softly. “You is no longer a chile. This is good. This will help.”
“What do you mean?”
“You is strong,” she told me. “Inside you have the hidden strength, the will to overcome. This will see you through.”
Mama Lou nodded as though in agreement with herself, her head bobbing up and down, and then she shooed the cat away from her legs and gave me the bottle of medicine. I slipped it into the pocket of my skirt.
“The last bottle helped a lot,” I said nervously. “She was able to get some sleep. I—I feel sure she’ll get better.”
Mama Lou’s eyes were sad. She didn’t say anything, and I was afraid to ask her any more questions. Some things you didn’t want to know. You wanted to keep them a secret as long as possible.
“Come on in, chile,” Mama Lou said gently. “They’s honey cakes. You always did love Mama Lou’s honey cakes.”
She opened the screen door. Her old leather slippers flopped noisily as she shuffled slowly inside the shanty. I followed, setting the basket down on the littered worktable. It was cool and dim inside. Drying herbs hung from the beams overhead, and a tall shelf along one wall was filled to overflowing with boxes and canisters. There were two battered old bamboo chairs, a small leather-bound chest between them. Mama Lou lighted a candle in a battered pewter holder and set it down on the chest, settling herself into one of the bamboo chairs. In the flickering candlelight I saw the strange masks hanging on the wall opposite the shelf. They were wonderfully carved and extremely ugly, one of them encircled with long dry grass like a lion’s mane. The three savage faces seemed to grimace as the light wavered. They had been here ever since I could remember, and I wondered how Mama Lou had obtained them.
“You fetch the honey cakes, chile. Mama Lou doesn’t get around as good as she did. These old bones are a-gettin’ weary.”
“I really don’t want any honey cakes, Mama Lou.”
“No,” she said, “you wants to talk. Sit yourself down.”
I sat down in the bamboo chair opposite hers, the candle flame leaping between us like a tiny yellow-orange demon trying to escape its captivity on the tip of the candle. Ebenezer jumped through the open window and perched on the sill for a moment, then jumped onto the old rag rug and marched over to sit at Mama Lou’s feet. His yellow-green eyes glared at me, daring me to attempt any harm to his mistress. Through the window I could see that the cloud was still covering the sun, everything gray, dim, even though it was only midmorning. I looked at Mama Lou, and in the light of the candle her withered old face had a strange beauty, like one of the masks.
“Tell me, chile,” she rasped.
“I—I’ve been having this dream, Mama Lou. I’ve been having it for some time now, and it—it’s always the same.”
She bobbed her head, waiting for me to continue, and I told her about the dream: the mist, the man I sensed was tall and handsome but couldn’t see clearly, the great river nearby. I didn’t tell her about the feelings I had when I woke up, for some reason embarrassed to speak of them. Mama Lou listened carefully, leaning forward in her chair, and when I had finished, she bobbed her head again, nodding.
“You has the sight,” she said.
“The sight?”
“Everyone has it, chile, in one degree or another, only most folk, they’s never even aware of it. It come and it goes, like a flash of lightning in the mind, and they just puzzled for a moment and forgets it.”
“This dream—”
“It comes in dreams, too, chile, only most folk, they forgets they dreams as soon as they opens they eyes. Sometimes the sight come only once, faintly, like a shred of mist, and other times it come back again and again, like your dream.”
“Then—I—”
“You will meet this man.”
“How will I know? I can never see his face.”
“When the time come, chile, you will know.”
“He will take my hands, pull me to him?”
“Beside the river, and you will feel like you feel in the dream.”
“Is—is he a good man, Mama Lou?”
Mama Lou frowned and beckoned me to her. I got up and kneeled in front of her, and Mama Lou placed her hands on my temples, peering intently into my eyes. Ebenezer made unpleasant noises, not at all pleased. Mama Lou shoved him away with her foot. The candle flame danced wildly, throwing shadows on the walls, and the bizarre masks seemed to change expression. Mama Lou stared into my skull for several long moments, her thin lips working at the corners, her eyes strangely flat. She might have been in some kind of trance. I trembled slightly as her velvet-soft fingertips pressed against my temples, gently kneading the flesh.
“What—what do you see?” I whispered.
Mama Lou didn’t seem to hear
me. Several more moments passed, and then she sighed and sat back, her hands dropping into her lap. She looked exhausted, her eyes closed, her fuzzy gray head resting against the back of the chair as she breathed deeply. It was some time before she opened her eyes, even more before she had the strength to speak.
“I sees many things, chile. They come in patches, and some of ’em don’t rightly make sense.”
“The man? Did you see him?”
“They’s four men. One, he is good. One, he is bad and good. Good, but he does bad. One—” She hesitated “what he wants is unnatural, it is wrong and you must—” Mama Lou cut herself short, frowning deeply.
“I must what, Mama Lou?”
“You must not do this thing. It is wrong, against nature.”
I stared at her, frowning. Mama Lou was frowning, too, and there was a puzzled look in her dark eyes.
“I—I don’t understand,” I said. “What is it I must not do?”
Mama Lou shook her head, the frown deepening. “It ain’t clear, chile. I gets a very strong impression, a feelin’, but—it’s patchy. All I knows is you must beware of this man.”
“Is—is he the one by the river?”
“Th’ one by the river, he is one of the four, but—which one you must beware of—” Mama Lou shook her head, scowling now, disappointed with herself. “Sometimes it’s like that—you get the feelin’, but you cain’t see it clearly.”
“Four men,” I said thoughtfully. “Will—will I love them?”
“Two of them you will love, with body and soul, and the other two …” She hesitated, concentrating, trying hard to peer into that hazy realm. “The other two, you will not love them, but—”
She cut herself short, worried.
“But I must beware of one,” I said.
Mama Lou nodded, her fuzzy head bobbing.
“They’s more,” she said.
She settled back in the chair and closed her eyes again, leaving me behind as she looked into the haze of future. I kneeled in front of her, very still, waiting. The candle flame danced, leaping, washing over the walls in bizarre patterns. Ebenezer crouched in a corner, purring angrily and glaring at me with hateful eyes. Several moments passed again, and then the old Negro woman sighed and shook her head, opening her eyes. When she spoke, her words were hesitant. She was plainly confused.
“It—it don’t rightly make sense,” she said, “but that’s the way it is sometimes. I sees you an’—an’ you is behind a half circle of lights an’ you is wearin’ a lovely gown, it seems like silk, yes, gold and white striped silk, an’ you is wearin’ sparklers, too, at your throat a necklace of sparklers—jewels, they is, maybe diamonds. The lights are flickerin’ an’ people—people, lots of ’em, they is watchin’ you and makin’ a big commotion, lots of noise, but—but you ain’t frightened at all. You is smilin’.”
Mama Lou fell silent and opened her eyes, bemused by the vision.
“You’re right,” I said. “It don’t make sense. Don’t make no sense at all.”
“It will,” Mama Lou said quietly. “When the time comes, when it happens, it will make perfect sense. You’ll be where you belong, chile, an’ you’ll be—” She hesitated, frowning, intent as she peered into the future. “You will be someone—someone they all know.”
“Those people making the racket?”
She nodded. “You will be someone of note.”
Someone of note? Beats me what she’s talking about, I said to myself. It was thrilling to think of me in a silk gown, wearing sparklers, but what could the circle of lights mean? And all those people watching me and making a big commotion? My knees were beginning to hurt from kneeling there in front of the chair, but I still wanted to know about Ma. Mama Lou had been evasive when I asked her about Ma before. I asked her again now, and the old Negro looked at me with black-brown eyes that were full of concern. The corners of her mouth worked, and she hesitated again before speaking. Her voice was crisp.
“You takes her the medicine, chile. Mama Lou’s medicine is the best. It’ll ease her.”
“But—”
Mama Lou shook her head impatiently and stood up, reaching down for my hand. I stood up, too, a wave of dirty honey-blond hair spilling across my cheek. I brushed it back, frustrated, apprehensive. She knew something, I was sure of it, but she didn’t intend to tell me. Why? Was it … was it something bad?
“Mama Lou—” My voice trembled.
“Don’t ask Mama Lou no more questions. Sometimes it ain’t—it ain’t a blessin’ to have the sight. I has things to do, herbs to gather, petals to dry. I cain’t spend no more time jawin’ with you.”
“Thank—thank you, Mama Lou. Next time I’ll try to bring some sugar, too.”
Mama Lou didn’t reply. She avoided my eyes. I had the strange feeling that I would never see her again, that the old woman knew it full well. She led me out onto the porch, Ebenezer following behind us with a series of ugly hisses. The sky was darker than before, clouds covering the sun completely. Everything was flat pewter-gray and dull green and muddy brown. A frog leaped into the lake. The water lilies trembled, grew still. Mama Lou took my hand again and gripped it tightly, her own bony yet curiously smooth. Those black-brown eyes peered at me intently, but I sensed that they were seeing much more than a dirty-faced girl in a ragged pink dress. She didn’t say anything for a long while, and when she finally spoke, her voice was tired, raspy.
“You’s strong, chile, like I said. You’s gonna see it through.”
“Am—am I going to need strength?”
“They—they’s gonna be hard times, little Dana, and you’s going to suffer, but—you will know great joy as well. One day you will know great joy, a great love. The dream will come true.”
There were many more questions I longed to ask her, but I knew it would be futile. Mama Lou had said all that she intended to say. She looked at me now with sad, dark eyes, and I felt sad, too, a tremulous sadness that seemed to well up inside me. It was all I could do to keep the tears from brimming over my lashes. This ancient Negro woman with her fuzzy gray head and withered black cheeks was the only friend I had ever had, and I knew somehow that I would never see her again. Mama Lou seemed to follow my thoughts. She nodded, as though to confirm the truth in them. She let go of my hand and moved back. Ebenezer curled his fat body around her ankles, hissing at me.
“Good-bye, Mama Lou,” I said quietly.
“Take care, chile.”
Reluctantly I left her, questions unanswered, new questions taking shape in my mind. I crossed the clearing beside the lake, and reaching the edge of the trees with their festoons of ghostly gray moss, I turned and looked back at the shanty. Mama Lou was still standing on the porch, absolutely immobile, looking like some petrified pagan statue with the furry marmalade cat curled about her ankles. The sky was still gray, the lake flat and motionless, but a few thin yellow rays of sunlight were penetrating the gloom. I lifted my hand in farewell, but the old woman made no acknowledgment of my gesture. I plunged into the swamp, filled with a multitude of conflicting emotions.
Moving through the dense, damp tunnels of gray and green, insects humming all around, birds shrieking in the distance, I thought about all that Mama Lou had told me. I wasn’t a superstitious ninny like most folk here in the swamps—I didn’t, for instance, put a bit of faith in the belief that seeing a redbird meant someone would die—but I knew Mama Lou really did have the sight, and I knew everything she said would come true, try though I might to convince myself it was nonsense. Four men … four I would love, one I must beware of. I guess I’m supposed to meet ’em while I’m cleaning out the pigsty or churning the butter, I thought. Me in a silk gown and diamonds, people watching me and making a commotion. That was even harder to believe, it was a real puzzler, but in my heart I knew that someday I would be standing behind a half circle of lights in that gown, those jewels, for whatever reason. I would be where I belonged, Mama Lou had said. Whatever could that mean?
I
skirted a bad patch of quicksand and parted strands of trailing moss, reaching into my pocket to touch the bottle of medicine. Mama Lou’s medicine was the best. Ma was going to get better. There were going to be hard times, just like Mama Lou said, but that didn’t mean … It meant I would have to be very strong until Ma got over her sickness. I stepped over veins of sluggishly flowing green water, moved through clumps of cattails, smelling strong swamp odors. An alligator hissed and slithered into a nearby pond, sinking into the water like a brownish-green log. The anguish over Ma was like something live inside me, threatening to take over completely, and I knew I must keep it at bay. I couldn’t give in to it. I had to be calm and cheerful for her. I couldn’t ever let her know how worried I was.
The sun was high and hot when I finally reached the farm. Heat waves shimmered visibly in the air, and I could feel the perspiration dripping slowly down my back. The chickens were silent. The pigs were roiling quietly in the mud in their sty. Not a breeze stirred. The Spanish moss hung limp and gray from the boughs of the trees surrounding the farm. I paused in the yard, lifting my hands up to shove limp, heavy honey-blond waves from my cheeks. My breasts swelled, almost spilling out of the tattered dusty pink bodice. I smoothed my hair back, longing for a bath, longing to remove my filthy dress and shabby white petticoat and submerge myself in the crystal-clear water of the secret spring where I always bathed. It was deep in the swamp, and the soft green fern growing around the banks made a wonderful, creamy lather when dampened and crushed. Perhaps I could get away to bathe later on this afternoon, I thought.
It was as I adjusted the bodice of my dress that I felt the eyes boring into me. The sensation was so strong, so unsettling, that it was almost like physical touch. I turned, disturbed, and there he stood, near the corner of the barn. I had no idea how long he might have been there, watching me as I daydreamed about a bath, but I knew he had seen me tucking my full breasts deeper into the bodice. A blush tinted my cheeks. I felt embarrassment and anger and something else as well, the same instinctive apprehension I felt every time my stepfather stared at me with those sullen eyes so dark a blue they seemed almost black.
They Call Her Dana Page 3
