by C. R. Daems
"Well, mumbo jumbo. We were each going to fuck you before we passed you around the Locos, but Teo doesn't seem up to it, so I guess I'll have to do it twice." He laughed as he took a knife from an ankle sheath, and his face turned into a sneer. He was no longer a youth; he was a psychopath reeking of ugliness. Master Jing had always said I should expect to get cut in a knife fight. The key to winning was to accept that and concentrate on your attack. My attacker was throwing his knife from hand to hand as he slowly inched towards me. I wasn't a knife fighter, but that didn't seem like a good technique. What if you dropped it...or... I focused on the throws, subconsciously timing the grab, release, and time in the air. As the knife left his right hand, I moved. By the time it hit his left hand my knee was waist high. And as the knife left his hand, my foot drove towards his chest. I could see by his eyes what I was doing had registered—a bit too late. My foot grazed the knife causing it to spin away as my heel smashed into his solar plexus.
I'd been kicked there several times over the years, and each time it felt like my lungs had collapsed. He staggered back against the wall fighting for air, and I kicked him in the groin. When he doubled over, I grabbed his head and drove it into my knee. I could feel his nose cave in and blood gushed over my pants. When I let go, he fell backward against the wall. In the silence of the alley, I stood trembling for several minutes. I had been lucky.
I returned home using as many back streets and shadows as I could find. My outfit would have been perfect on Halloween as my shirt and pants were soaked with blood. Today it probably would have brought out the SWAT team and got me arrested for causing a riot.
At home, I lay on the bed, trying to understand why two Locos had attacked me. I thought I had made peace with Hector and therefore the Locos. And I doubted Hector could send Locos after me without looking weak. Maybe those two were trying to show Hector how weak he was, or maybe someone hired them. Kweku was certainly mad enough at me to want revenge. Ken and Sheila would have hired professionals, but I didn't see that they had a reason. Life had gotten very complicated. I went to bed with a sore fist, elbow, knee, and a migraine headache.
* * *
The next two days were slow. It appeared that the tourists had all gone home. The few who came in the store mostly looked without buying. I answered the usual questions.
"Can you do some kind of ceremony to curse someone?" a small gray-haired lady asked. If I could have conjured a curse for her, I'd bet she would have been a regular customer.
"No, madam. Trying would be considered black magic. It would be comparable to paying a criminal to do something bad to someone." I explained. Judging by the look in her eyes, I think the idea appealed to her. She poked around the shop for a while and then left. Then there was the short, elderly man with thinning hair and round plump face.
"Miss, are you a mumbo...priestess? Can you make...lov...attraction potions?" he said in a whisper, while his eyes scanned the area. There were a few ladies in the shop, but they were at the far end and busily talking about something on the shelf with my custom necklaces.
"I can, but you would be better off by being interested in the person and listening rather than trying to impress her or him," I said and smiled. He gave me a hard look.
"You aren't going to make a lot of money with advice like that. I thought all you people who have shops sell various potions and... Voodoo dolls and concoctions for...whatever." He seemed almost mad. Probably at being told he was under a misconception when he knew better. He was right. I could have sold him something, pretending it would gain him everlasting love from every woman he met. It wouldn't work, but it wouldn't matter because he'd be back whatever he lived.
"That's true, sir, but I sleep a lot better. I do make healing potions with natural herbs and roots to correct or relieve a condition, or to slow or stop its progression. Those do work."
"Are you a doctor?" He sneered.
"I've studied natural remedies and their power years longer than any doctor. These compounds have been proven effective over hundreds of years. Many of the drugs the pharmaceutical companies make have adverse side effects. And the doctors only have the pharmaceutical's biased word on the drug’s effectiveness, based on limited testing." Over half the population thought that we were all charlatans that threw a bunch of weeds in a jar and claimed it would cure every disease known to modern man. I did have to admit some self-called Voodoo priests and priestesses did, not unlike the snake oil salesmen of the old west. And the scams were not limited to Voodoo. The Internet was filled with miraculous cures. Then there were the know-it-all college kids. After wandering around the shop for a while snickering, one came up to the counter.
"You don't expect anyone to believe this mumble-jumble Voodoo magic, do you?"
"Are you a Christian, by any chance?" I asked casually. The supercilious smile left his face for a moment and then returned full force.
“Yes, I am. You're not trying to claim Voodoo is real?"
"If you mean all the nonsense that the uninformed claim…” I bit my lip to keep from saying ‘like you. “I certainly don't. If you mean Vodou, a religion practiced by some eighty million people around the world and having a number of beliefs similar to Catholicism, then yes, I do believe in Vodou." I gave a slight nod to punctuate my statement.
"Oh," he mumbled. The smile was gone. His buddies had joined us after they heard his opening salvo and were now clustered around us.
"Yes, we have ceremonies much like your services or masses; we have messengers to God similar to your saints or prophets; and we've all sorts of different ways of asking God for favors which are no different from praying."
The young man got a lot of ribbing from his buddies on the way out. The questions helped pass the time and hopefully got people interested in buying something, if only a book on some aspect of Vodou. I'm not trying to convert anyone to Vodou, but to inform them and dispel any Hollywood characterizations of Voodoo, which does not exist in reality. But realistically, I know it's easier to convince someone that a Voodoo doll has power than to change a person's strongly held perceptions, even though they are based on rumors or works of fantasy.
* * *
A lot had happened over the past couple of weeks. I wasn't sure how it was being received by the senior Asogwes, so I decided to visit Mambo Monique. Although Vodou had no hierarchical structure except to the Asogwe who consecrated him or her, I respected Mambo Monique and valued her counsel. She was as close as could be to the old Voodoo queens that existed in Louisiana over the years. So, I closed early on Tuesday and walked down Bourbon Street in the direction of Toulouse Street and Monique's shop, the Serpent House of Voodoo. On the way, I considered the number of incidents that had occurred, beginning with Hector, and the rumors they had spawned. Like Voodoo, people would assume they were real and would form an opinion of me based on those beliefs. That would have consequences which would impact me directly. I had only hoped to create a following and to pass on the wisdom that Granny, Mambo Asogwe Eshe, had shared with me.
When I reached Monique's shop my mind was in turmoil, and I stood there debating whether to go in or not. Finally, logic won out. Monique had been a close friend of Granny and the only person I knew to turn to.
"Good day, Renee. It's early in the day for you to be out," Monique said as I entered the shop. The only other person in her shop looked like a tourist, judging from her clothes and shopping bags from several other shops in the area. She had several objects in her arms from Monique's shop. I decided to leave and turned towards the door.
"Don't go, Renee. I will close after the young lady has finished her shopping. Go in the back and make yourself comfortable." She waved towards the curtain that led to her living quarters. That she would close her shop to talk to me was a shock. I had been right to seek her out. Her house was no larger than Granny's...mine. The kitchen area was small, and the only appliances were a small refrigerator and stove that were almost as old as me. A round table with two kitchen chairs formed the
dining area. A single cot lay against the wall on the opposite side of the room. Next to it, there was a night table and lamp. Closer to the door stood a dresser and bookcase loaded to capacity. A recliner sat nearby with another small table and a tall lamp. The door on the opposite side near the kitchen was open and looked to contain jars of herbs and other things. Next to that I assumed was a closet. I chose one of the kitchen chairs and sat. On the window in the back hung a beautiful curtain of Haitian design in blues, greens, and oranges. In the center of the room was a faded tree-of-life rug in shades of brown—camel, bronze, golden brown, and taupe. It looked old, but the intricate design was breathtaking. And the walls were filled with Haitian art I had seen only in books. It was a very comfortable room and captured the essence of Monique perfectly. Not too long afterward, I heard the woman leaving and the door being locked.
"Well, Renee, I'm glad you came to visit. I hear your name mentioned more and more, and the rumors are disturbing. It will be nice to hear the facts around those rumors." She walked over to the sink and ran some water into a pot. "Would you like some sweet tea and maybe some leftover pastalaya?" She obviously planned to spend the time to hear the details and to offer her counsel. I desperately needed someone I could go to for advice.
"Yes, thank you. That sounds wonderful." I relaxed somewhat as I watched her heating our meal. I missed Granny's counsel and Monique could never replace her, but it felt right being here. After she laid the food on the table, I began.
"I guess it started with—"
"Renee, relax and eat. How else are you going to enjoy my good food?" She smiled. Monique did most of the talking while we ate—small talk about everything and nothing. When we finished eating, she cleaned up and made tea. Then she sat.
"Now you can tell me what is on your mind, if you still feel you need to." She relaxed back in her chair and appeared content to wait. Like Granny, she was a wise woman. I had come with my mind in turmoil not knowing what I wanted except that I needed someone to talk to. She had taken the time and effort to let me know she cared and wanted to help.
"Granny...Mambo Eshe's death shattered my life. I loved her with all my heart and expected her to live for many years. I miss her wisdom and counsel." A tear slowly trickled down my cheek. I didn't bother to wipe it away. It was honest sorrow.
"All who knew Mambo Eshe will miss her greatly. I'll miss her more than many. To me, she felt more like a sister than a friend. And to you she was a loving mother and your only family. You have a right to feel the way you do, but we must all move on or stagnate, destroying our lives and those around us. Mambos have a special obligation not to get caught up in self-pity or to seek other paths, because of the lives they impact. It has been difficult for you, but I believe you have adjusted well since Eshe died—until now. The events over the past couple of weeks have everyone talking. Although rumors, they affect people’s perception whether accurate or not."
From what she said, it was clear that she would provide me the support Granny would have but only if I honored Mambo Eshe's teaching.
"Yes, the last two weeks has been a nightmare. It started with Hector deciding to make me his girl. If he had succeeded, soon I would have been selling drugs out of my shop, and when he eventually got tired of me, I'd become the Locos' girl. Although I may have had the right to kill him, I couldn't without causing more trouble with the Locos and destroying myself. As I told you, I didn't use magic of any kind, only drugs, but the perception of magic was necessary to keep Hector and the Locos away."
"You were right; however, there is a thin line between white and black magic in the eyes of most. People tend to perceive violent results like what happened to Hector as black, whereas they perceive gentle results as white. Therefore, what happened to Hector was black. Although, if the rumors are correct, Hector claims you cured him of a crippling disease," she said with a smile which said she knew I didn't.
"I wanted to make peace with Hector and, therefore, the Locos. So I proposed a compromise with Hector. He would claim he went to me because he was in terrible pain, and I gave him medicine that made him extremely sick. He was mad at me until he realized it had cured him. He agreed because he hadn't told the Locos anything about our encounter, and they were beginning to think him weak. In fact, two of his wacko friends attacked me several nights ago, to prove it. They set a trap using a small girl. They planned to rape me and then pass me around to their Loco friends."
"You, a girl won, therefore, black magic."
"No. Although I did mumble words of help to the Loa, years of Bagua saved me."
"Eshe planned well for your future, Renee. And Kweku?"
"Hector paid Kweku to curse me. He used two young boys. One boy distracted me while the other dropped strychnine into my cup of gumbo soup. Since it hadn't dissolved completely, I noticed it before I drank any and pretended to finish. When Kweku saw me drinking the soup, he put on his little show planning to take credit for cursing me."
"Most might consider that white magic over black," she said after a pause. "But you can see that you have become a very controversial mambo, and you will attract good and evil until these issues are resolved by you. I'm convinced you are not using or inclined towards black magic." Monique said nothing more. She got up and poured us another cup of tea.
"I'd be interested in hearing about Samuel. Eshe was very perceptive and understood people; however, I believe her insights were a gift from the Loa. That gift could be interpreted as white or black magic depending upon one's perception of the mambo. I don't know if you are perceptive or have Eshe's gift, but I would question whether you would want to follow in Eshe's footsteps after what happened to her. I have heard there have been people talking to your clients and asking questions about you. I'm afraid there is too much to hear."
That's what Sheila wanted with my appointment book. "You're right. The people who were responsible for Granny's death are still hanging around. I don't know what they want, but they are connected to power. I should run away, but I can't. Granny raised me to be a mambo, not to follow in her footsteps but because I love the Vodou religion, the Loa, the ceremonies, and want to help as many people as I can. "
"I would not counsel you to run. You're a serpent not a rabbit, but I would counsel caution. You find yourself swimming among sharks and cannot afford to get cut." Monique reached out and took my hand. "You may come to me anytime to talk or for whatever help that is within my power to give."
I felt a sense of relief as I walked slowly back to my shop. I hadn't solved any of my problems but talking with Monique had helped me put things in perspective. More importantly, I now had someone I respected that I could turn to in times of need.
CHAPTER FOUR
Grace and Ron
"Renee!" a young, well-dressed man shouted as he came through the doorway and ran towards me with his arms spread wide. He was tall, over six feet, lean physique, sandy-blond hair, and a long angular face with an outdoors complexion. For a second, I didn’t recognize him and had been preparing to defend myself.
"Ron Casey—" I managed as he raised me off the ground in a bear hug. I had met Ron at Loyola University. At the time, I was a freshman enrolled in the Department of Philosophy, and he was in his second year of Law School. We met by accident at a special series of lectures on the history of New Orleans put on by the University's Center for the Study of New Orleans. We happened to be sitting next to each other, and a few comments led to coffee afterward and many subsequent talks about Voodoo and Hoodoo—superstition. We never dated since he and I had steadies at the time, but we became good friends.
A woman in a tailored pants suit stood behind him. She was a few inches shorter than Ron with a nice figure, if a little on the thin side, auburn-colored hair, a few faded freckles, straight nose, and full lips. She stood evaluating us with a slight smile on her lips.
I left school prior to my junior year when Granny passed on her gift, and unbeknown to me, began preparing me for her death. It had been a little over
two years since we had seen each other. "Ron, who's the very attractive young lady behind you? She seems to be debating whether to strangle you or me," I said when I could breathe again. Ron half-turned and put his arm around her and gave her a kiss on the cheek.
"This beautiful woman is my wife, Grace. Grace, this is the infamous Mambo Renee, a Voodoo Priestess. I've told you about her. She taught me the difference between Voodoo, Hoodoo, and mumble-jumble."
"It's nice to finally meet you, Renee. Ron's talked about you a lot. You impressed him… intellectually and personally. Fortunately, I already had him in my clutches."
"We had some interesting conversations. Voodoo is my favorite subject and Ron has an inquisitive mind and loves to take the counter argument. I'd certainly call on him if I ever needed a lawyer."
"I'm right here, you two. Renee, if you aren't too busy, why don't you have dinner with us tonight?" Ron said and Grace nodded agreement.
"Would seven be all right?" I asked. Ron looked to Grace who nodded. "I'll call for reservations at Cajun Café on Saint Peter Street. The food's good, and it has a cozy, relaxed atmosphere."
"That sounds good. We'll see you at seven." Ron took Grace's hand, and they wandered around the shop, while I answered an elderly man's questions about herbs for treating colds. I eventually sold him a root and herb mixture. Ron and Grace left while I was talking with my customer.
* * *
Eloi was at the door to greet us when we arrived, and treated me like I was a visiting dignitary.
