by C. R. Daems
"Renee, what I'm about to tell you is for you alone. Your life depends on it," she said. In that moment, she looked somehow older. "Our great, great grandmother received a gift from some Loa. She could see into the future of anyone she touched. When her daughters became of age, she selected one and passed on the gift. We'll never know why she selected the daughter she did. That daughter, my mother, passed the gift onto me. I should have passed it on to your mother, but I felt she'd have used it for evil. I'm willing to pass it on to you if you wish. I no longer know if it is a gift or a curse."
I didn't know what to think. She had taught me how to tell fortunes by making up stories based on an ability to read people and their reactions. Most people unintentionally gave you enough information about themselves to deduce what they wanted to know. You merely had to give them a fuzzy tale hinting at the possibility of good things happening. I not only enjoyed it, but with Granny's coaching I became so good, I had a few of my own clients. But the idea of actually knowing the future sounded intriguing and exciting.
"The minute someone knows you can actually tell the future and can in a sense change it, you become a prize worth more than money. When that happens, your life will no longer be yours. You would become a slave to someone and never be free again." She wiped tears from her eyes. I reached out and took her hand, wanting desperately to help but not knowing how.
"Some dangerous men have discovered my secret and are forcing me to help them. I'd just refuse and let them kill me, but they are threatening to kill you if I don't help. Fortunately, what they want help with is at least a year off. If you decide to accept our family legacy, that will give me enough time to help you understand the gift. You need not decide today or even tomorrow. It's not a trivial decision."
“What will we do about whoever is pressuring you?” I asked, frowning. “You can’t let someone do that. It’s horrible.”
She patted my hand. “Don’t you worry. I’m fixin’ to take care of that, but this has to come first.”
Granny and I discussed it for several days and nights before I gave her my answer. In truth, I knew I would say "yes" the minute she told me about the gift. A week later, she sat facing me with her arms bared. I'd seen her tattoos before but thought little about them, except they looked like works of art.
"They're beautiful, Granma. Why do you keep them covered?" I asked. She seldom wore clothes that revealed the tattoos.
"These tattoos cover runes from the Loa. When you are given one, you will be told its name and see the rune; however, it will soon be covered with some tattoo. The head of an owl on my right arm hides Ohene—the rune for foresight and wisdom. My mother transferred it to me as her mother did to her. The symbol looks like a small circle with eight arrow-like spokes. It's the only rune that can be handed down and only from mother to daughter.
"The other tattoos," she said, pointing to a mouse and an ox, hide Osrane ne nsoroma—the rune for wisdom and humility, and Gyawu—the rune for respect and leadership. They have appeared one at a time over the years. They're gifts from the Loa, which aid me in healing and ceremonies. Those have to be earned, but only the Loa know how."
As I sat staring at the tattoos, Granny gently took hold of my arm and began chanting. For several minutes I felt nothing, then I screamed as a searing pain shot up my arm. I tried to pull away but couldn't. I felt paralyzed. Through the blur of tears, I could see the Ohene rune on my forearm. It looked red and raw and although the pain had subsided, the skin smelled like burnt flesh. I watched in fascination as a tattoo took shape and slowly covered the scarred skin. It didn't take long to realize it would not be an owl. Granny gasped when a mottled python in yellows and greens appeared—the great serpent and focus of divine power. After a few minutes of silence, she spoke.
"One future you can never see is your own. Even when it's part of another person's, you must extrapolate it from what you see. Nor can you see those of your family—I cannot see yours. You'll probably never hear the conversations along with the images. Your great grandmother could, but I can't. I don't know why. It may be an additional gift a Loa gives for his or her own reason."
The doorbell thankfully interrupted my painful reflections of the past. When I answered the door, it was Oatha.
"Good evening. You look happy."
A smile lit her face and her brown eyes sparkled. "Yes, Remy and Bella both made the honor roll. I'm so proud of them."
"That's wonderful," I said and led her to the old, wooden table in the corner of the shop. She sat, and I shut off all the lights except for a small dim one over the table. The reduced lighting helped to keep the person focused on me rather than the contents of my shop. Oatha already had her hands stretched out on the table when I sat down. I placed my hands over hers and closed my eyes. When my hands touched hers, I felt an overwhelming euphoria as her future unfolded before my eyes. In the beginning, I couldn't stop or slow it down, but with months of practice I've been able to.
As I watched, I saw Oatha jumping up and down as her husband, Virgil, told her something. He had a small boat rigged for seine fishing and from their activities over the next couple of days, I was sure he had an exceptionally good month. I saw her buying new kitchen appliances several weeks later.
"Oatha, Virgil will have a highly profitable month, and you will benefit. You can enjoy the anticipation of good fortune, but don't jinx it by telling anyone what I've told you. It could change what I've seen." When I opened my eyes and looked at her, she was grinning.
The intriguing—and terrifying—aspect of my gift was that it allowed me to impact future events. If I saw the individual would be in a car accident and then told them not to drive on that day, the future would change if, and only if, the person decided to take my advice. In that event, I would see a different future unfold. So in a sense, I could change the future by convincing him or her to do something they would not have done otherwise. When Granny had explained that to me, it made my head spin. In theory, it sounded simple. In practice, it was far more complicated since changing one thing could and usually did cause a ripple effect of other changes—some more unpleasant than the original. Complicating matters more, I couldn't be specific without people beginning to realize that I did actually see the future—and worse—impact it. Even thinking about it gave me a migraine. But telling fortunes brought in extra income, and in truth, it was exhilarating and provided an opportunity to help people.
* * *
For the next several days, I averaged about fifteen to twenty customers a day and half of them usually bought something. Twice I got to use my little Voodoo doll spiel and sold eight dolls. It surprised me that Hector or some of his crazy friends hadn't stopped by the shop. I began to worry that they might be waiting for a more private visit. By the third day, I concluded all I could do was be prepared. Fortunately, when I was fourteen, Granny had insisted I learn some form of self-defense. I tried several styles the first year and finally settled on Bagua, an internal style of Kung Fu that focused on continuously changing positions in response to your opponents' attack. It succeeded through balance and skill, not strength or brute force.
No clients wanted a telling, so the evenings were quiet. I fixed dinner each night and afterward relaxed with one of Granny's hand-written books on herbs.
* * *
Late one afternoon, just before closing, Mambo Asogwe—high priestess—Monique, entered my shop. A Haitian in her sixties with a strong-boned face and high arched brows, today she wore a long loose-fitting purple gown with a matching head wrap. She said nothing as she strolled around the shop until she reached my counter.
"Bonjour, Renee. Your shop appears to be doing well. Your Voodoo dolls seem particularly popular." A small smile touched her lips.
"Thank you, Mambo Monique. Merely proof that perception is as important as truth."
"True, perception is important; however, it's truth that separates the true mambos and houngans from the fakes. Speaking of perception, your reputation has grown since the
incident with Hector. Some mambos wonder whether it was white or black magic.”
"Granny Eshe would not permit me to use black magic. She would haunt me from the grave."
"True. Mambo Asogwe Eshe was a true high priestess of Vodou, and we should expect no less from her granddaughter." Monique nodded. "I'm satisfied. Nevertheless, the rumor will persist. Hector must retaliate for what you did to him or lose face. Black magic would provide him with a reasonable explanation."
"Thank you, Mambo Monique. Your opinion of me is crucial since I can't dispute the black magic without bringing the Locos down on me." I shuddered at the thought of what Hector and his whacko friends would do to me.
"Take care of yourself, Renee. You're welcome at my hounfour anytime." With that she left. I felt sure Monique had come to talk to me because of her strong friendship with Granny. There was a delicate balance in New Orleans and vicinity between the honest and fake mambos. We all had to make a living to survive, like any pastor of a church. We were, therefore, in competition for both tourists and followers of Vodou. On the other hand, Vodou was a religion that went far beyond money and our personal needs. The honest mambo and houngan hoped to provide their followers with a fuller life and prepare them for death. Of course, we also had to live in the real world with its Hectors and men like those who drove Granny to her grave.
* * *
The next couple of days were much like every other day, although business was a little slow. As I was getting ready to close for the night, a man and woman entered the shop. The man stood over six feet tall. He had an athletic build, walked with his shoulders back, and had dark-brown hair cut above the ears as though he might have had military training. He was dressed casually in an open sports shirt, Docker slacks, and loafers. The woman was a perfect match. She was only a few inches shorter than him, brunette hair cut above her ears, with not an ounce of fat. She wore light brown slacks and a cream silk blouse open at the neck. With her sleek frame and penetrating green eyes, she looked and walked like a predatory cat. They were looking at me rather than around the shop.
"Can I help you?"
"I'm looking for Mambo Eshe," the man said. It took me a moment before I could talk.
"No, sir. She died over a year ago. Can I maybe help you?"
"Oh, I'm sorry to hear that. We vacation here once every couple of years, and I always stop in for a telling. Mambo Eshe was the best I've ever encountered. You aren't related by any chance, are you?" He looked sincere; however, the woman looked like a cat watching a mouse.
"Yes, I'm her granddaughter. I've inherited her shop," I said with a smile I didn't feel. Damn it! I didn't want her shop. I wanted her.
"Are you also a fortuneteller?"
You know damn well I am. Warning sirens went off in my head. Could they somehow be related to Granny's death?
"Yes, sir. People think I'm as good as she was," I said straightening myself and pushing my chest out as if to challenge any doubt. But it hurt to even say it. If this were a game as I suspected, he would be suspicious if I said I wasn't. Fortunetellers don't claim to be less talented than someone else. They claim they're better.
"Excellent. Can you do it now? Sheila and I are leaving early tomorrow."
"No. I'd have to close the shop. Besides, I need time to prepare and to invoke the help of the Loa. I can do it later tonight if you want."
"You don't mind if Sheila comes along, do you?"
"Yes. You must be alone when I tell your fortune."
"Why?"
"In the event I reveal something that you wouldn't want her to hear."
"You can say anything in front of Sheila. I have no secrets from her." He turned to her and smiled. She said nothing but gave him a sweet smile before turning her attention back to me.
"No exceptions. Neither you nor I know what I'll see." I can handle one. I don't know about two.
He shrugged and began wandering around the shop examining the items I had on display. When he did, Sheila pulled me aside.
"Do you have a lotion to treat skin cancer? My dermatologist claims I have a patch on my leg that needs treatment." She leaned closer to me. "He's very expensive."
"No. I can make up a lotion for skin rashes but not cancer. If you had time, I could conduct a ritual to invoke the Loa to heal it. They have the power, not me." It was a test of some kind. Maybe she was trying to determine how much of a charlatan I was. My answer could be taken both ways. She shrugged and walked off. As she did, he returned. They're smooth.
"Mr....?" I said as I opened my appointment book.
"Mr. Rogers. You can call me Ken."
"I'll put you down for eight tonight if that will be convenient."
"That will be good. Thank you," he said. He joined Sheila and they left. I closed at my normal time and went about my nightly ritual of straightening the shelves and sweeping and mopping the floor. Then I set up the round table and two chairs I used for a fortunetelling and draped a dark-blue-velvet cloth over the table. When I finished, I went into the back and heated up a chicken gumbo I had made several days ago.
What did they want? Were they connected to Granny's death? I barely tasted the gumbo, as my mind spun with questions. If so, what did they want her to do and were they probing to see if I could replace her? Drugs were a possibility but seemed unlikely, since Granny had said the event wouldn't happen for a year, and I doubted they believed in magic. If they did, they would go to a high priestess like Mambo Monique. It had to be a one-time event and related to Granny's ability to see into the future. Whatever they wanted, I had to be careful. Except for their clothes and lack of tattoos, they were no different from Hector and the Locos.
I put on a long gown with a green and white pattern and matching headdress. Then I put on five rings: on the right, a mother of pearl, amethysts, and the spring loaded onyx with extract of castor beans; on the left hand, a gold snake ring and the tiger-eye loaded with a moonseeds mixture. Castor beans would kill within minutes whereas moonseeds would only cause paralysis in its currently diluted form. I'd never thought about killing someone before, even Hector, but what if… I didn't know and wouldn't unless it happened but better prepared than sorry afterward. I had to assume these people, whoever they were, were dangerous.
He knocked on the door exactly at eight. His eyes scanned my outfit, and he smiled. After an exchange of greetings, I led him to the table, and we sat. Even if Granny hadn't warned me, I knew I had to pretend to be your average phony psychic or fortuneteller. So, what would a reasonably good psychic conclude about the pair? They weren't married, since neither wore rings, said they were tourists, so they both worked, were unlikely to have children, athletic so they probably worked out. Time to start the game. May the best woman win.
"Please put your hands on the table," I said.
"Why?"
"I need to touch you. Mambo Eshe always said that the connection made the interpretation of what we see more accurate." I wanted him to believe I was just copying her. He gave a small frown but said nothing. Within a minute of touching his hands, I saw him and Sheila breaking into my house. They were extremely careful to place everything they touched back exactly the way it had been. They took out each book and flipped through the pages, looked inside each jar or container, opened the hide-a-bed couch, took out the drawers in my dresser, knocked on the walls, and went through all my clothing. When they finished, the place looked just like it had when they entered. They were definitely professionals. Sheila was particularly interested in my appointment book and took pictures of the pages. Afterward, Ken and Sheila went to the Windsor Court Hotel where they met two other men. One young man who looked similar to Ken, and an older man with gray-streaked hair. Both men were dressed in well-tailored suits. I sat in silence until I had witnessed several weeks—probably took a couple of minutes.
"Well, Ken. You have a nice surprise waiting for you when you return home. Your employer's pleased with you and you're going to be given a promotion or more responsibility. You will be
involved with a woman who will bring you much happiness. The only potential problem I see is an accident tomorrow when driving on Canal Street. I would avoid that street altogether. Oh, you will have a minor accident when you're working out. I wouldn't worry about trying to avoid it. It'll only be minor, and you'd have to avoid exercising altogether which wouldn't be worth it." I think that's enough bullshit. I opened my eyes and looked at him. He remained silent for a minute.
"Can't you be a bit more specific, particularly around the woman and what will happen at work?"
"I can only see what the Loa permits me to see. Even then, they are snapshots of events, which require interpretation. The Loa seldom reveal when an event will happen, and I think they avoid going too far into the future because they don't feel we should know." He would drive down Canal Street without incident, which should establish me as a fake, if the other predictions didn't.
"What about Sheila?"
"I don't know. I can only see your future. The woman may be Sheila, or she might not be. Does it matter?"
He didn't ask any more questions. He paid me, and after an exchange of pleasantries, left.
* * *
Nothing new happened over the next few days. I worked, cooked my own meals, watched a few TV programs, and reviewed Granny's years of notes. I was tempted to hide the notebooks, since Ken and Sheila were going to break into my house. But removing them or trying to hide them could have unintended consequences since I didn't know what they were looking for or why they were interested in me. Besides, I knew from Ken's telling that they didn't take anything.
I decided to eat out and attend Mambo Monique's weekly ceremony afterward. I had to laugh when I realized it was the night Ken and Sheila would be visiting. I decided on the Cajun Café and closed the shop early.
Eloi wasn't at the door when I arrived. The hostess, Susan, seated me at a small table in the outdoor patio. Alma approached my table a few minutes later. The restaurant looked crowded tonight, and she seemed stressed. I ordered a cup of gumbo z'herbes and a blackened red snapper entrée. Midway through my gumbo, a small boy tripped, banged into me, and fell.
