Rock and Roll Voodoo

by Mark Paul Smith

  Jesse stared at the river, wondering if she could be right. “I wish you were right about that.”

  “I am right about that. And, now that you mention it, I’m glad you don’t talk about it much anymore. It scares me when you talk about Voodoo.”

  “Why’s that?”

  “I don’t know. It makes me think you might be delusional in this quest for, I don’t know, rock and roll stardom I guess.”

  “I’ll always be delusional, whether I make it in the music business or not. You know it’s true. I suffer from delusions of adequacy.”

  She couldn’t help but laugh. “That’s pretty good.”

  “Tell me I’m not delusional about us,” he said, taking her by the hand.

  She had tears in her eyes when she looked at him. “You know I had a terrible day without you.”

  Jesse squeezed her hand as they walked together. “I’m sorry, baby. I need to make you happy and I haven’t been doing a very good job of it lately.”

  Amy stopped walking and turned to him. “You don’t want a marriage. You want the security of having a partner, but you don’t want the responsibility. You want a place to come home to, off the road.”

  Jesse returned her gaze. “I want you to be happy. Listen to me. That’s really all I want. I want you to be happy, happy with me.”

  His eyes were brimming with tears. So were hers.

  He kissed a tear off her cheek as it began rolling down. “We’ve been having fun down here, haven’t we? I mean, it beats teaching school in Indiana, right?”

  “So, now I’m teaching school in New Orleans.”

  They began walking again. “I thought you loved it down here.”

  She took a deep breath and sighed. “I do love it down here. And I do love you. I will follow you anywhere. As long as there’s no other woman involved.”

  “There could never be anyone but you. I’m not sure I realized it until I came home today and you weren’t there. I felt empty and sad and worried and even guilty.”

  “That doesn’t sound like the Jesse I know.”

  “The Jesse you know … needs you more than you know and more than maybe I even know.”

  Another tear began rolling down Amy’s cheek. He tried to kiss it away but she wouldn’t let him.

  “Behold, the mighty Mississippi,” Jesse said, desperately attempting a conversational arabesque. “They’re not making one inch of this back in Indiana.”

  Amy let him off the hook. “It has been fun here. Where else would I get to work on Mardi Gras floats?”

  “That’s what I’m talking about.”

  “Do you mean it about June sixteenth?”

  Jesse paused for emphasis before answering. “Absolutely. I didn’t realize you felt I was putting you off. No, I’m ready. I never met a girl like you. I’m not going to let you get away. You’re my one and only.”

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  THE VOODOO VOICE

  Jesse met Carmen at The St. Louis Cemetery in New Orleans at 11:45 p.m. on a Tuesday night. She was nothing but a shadow in the darkness. The humid air smelled like molding mummies.

  “It’s good to see you are right on time,” Carmen said. “I knew you would be.”

  “What’s with the smell?” Jesse asked.

  Carmen twitched her nose and tilted her head slightly to the right. “Your nose is playing tricks on you. You see all the tombs above ground and you think you smell them. There is no smell here. You will see as we enter the graveyard. Your nose will adjust to the lack of smell as your eyes adjust to the lack of light.”

  “You’re all dressed up,” Jesse said. Carmen was wearing a long black dress with an embroidered, purple shawl draped over her shoulders. The red hair on top of her head was wrapped in a burgundy scarf. The colors of her garments were barely distinguishable in the midnight.

  “I’ve come to visit my patron saint, Marie Laveau, the Voodoo queen,” she said as she began to lead him slowly into the cemetery.

  Jesse followed closely without saying a word. He didn’t want to be left behind. The graves looked like a sea of small, stone houses, topped with crosses and statues. Some were larger than others, but each tomb had a front door that didn’t open. Names and dates and messages were carved into the ornamental walls of the burial vaults. He strained to read the words and numbers. They were indiscernible in the moonless night. It crossed his mind that every structure represented a soul who lived and died thinking she was the center of the universe. He wondered what they were all doing now.

  Carmen floated effortlessly into the incomprehensible maze of death traps. Was this how she made her living, charging for graveyard tours? Or was she genuinely trying to help Jesse understand the voice inside his head?

  The October night air became chilly. Jesse began to wish he had a shawl of his own. He was wearing jeans and a long-sleeved, tie-died, t-shirt with Bob Marley on the front.

  “Am I underdressed for the event?” he asked.

  Carmen stopped and turned slowly to face him. With one finger over her mouth she advised him silently to keep his mouth shut. He thought he saw a hint of a smile behind her finger. Jesse could barely see her. There was very little light in the graveyard, only a glimmer reflected in the clouds from the lights of the surrounding city. He couldn’t imagine how she was finding her way. She had been right about the smell, or lack thereof. The only scent he was occasionally catching was the mild potpourri of Desiree’s body oils and lotions, mainly lavender and jasmine.

  She turned and continued walking, more slowly now. Jesse’s eyes were playing tricks on him. He kept seeing movement between the crypts. “Shadows,” he told himself. “It’s only shadows.” He thought about that for a moment and then had to wonder how there could be shadows when there was no light.

  Carmen stopped walking without warning. She turned and put her face close to his, holding his head in her hands. She turned his head to the left and whispered in his right ear. “There it is. We have arrived. This is the tomb of Marie Laveau, the queen mother of Voodoo. Come, kneel with me.”

  Jesse got down on both knees as if in prayer. There were vases of flowers and bunches of dried herbs and what seemed to be quite an assortment of dolls placed around the crypt. It looked like somebody famous had recently died.

  Carmen began murmuring a soft, prayer-chant as she constructed her own small shrine at the base of the tomb. He couldn’t see everything she was using to build her tiny altar, but part of it was a doll with long, curly hair that looked a lot like his own.

  A shiver of fear went down the full length of his spine.

  Carmen noticed him looking over his shoulder. “I thought you weren’t afraid of anything.”

  Jesse took the deepest breath he could take and held it as long as he could. He finally whispered in a long, slow exhale, “You’re sure you know what you’re doing?”

  Carmen didn’t respond to him. Instead, she began speaking to the carved stone on the wall in front of her, “Oh, my saint, my Marie, my Mother Laveau, I come to you tonight with a seeker of Voodoo truth. The gift he offers is his inquisitive soul. The risk he will take is whatever voyage you send him on or whatever task you require him to complete.”

  Jesse could feel the power of the Voodoo voice rising up his spine as Carmen continued her chant. The thought of the voice kept his courage up in the darkness, even though it didn’t speak to him. His heart was pounding. He closed his eyes and listened for what seemed like quite a long time, straining with all his might to hear the voice again.

  Instead of the voice, he heard Carmen begin a soft moan, as though she were being whisked away in a trance. That would not do, he thought as his fears returned like ghosts in a haunted house. If she was going anywhere, he wanted to go with her. Being left alone in front of this crypt, lost in the darkness with who knew how many haunted spirits, was the last thing he wanted.

  Should he grab her arm to bring her back to reality? No, that would definitely not do. He decided to keep his eyes closed and hop
e the voice would give him guidance.

  Carmen’s moans turned to groans and then to deep-space silence. He found himself floating momentarily. Then he was back on solid ground and being swept down a cobblestone street by a crowd of people on the move. It was night and the only light came from torches. He wasn’t in the graveyard anymore. He was walking on a city street. There were no neon signs, no traffic signals, and no streetlights of any kind. Jesse had somehow arrived in a place, or a time, before electricity. He was still in New Orleans. That much he knew from the Victorian architecture and the oppressive humidity. But it was no longer the twentieth century.

  A man on a tall, white horse knocked him off balance and nearly to his knees. Before he had time to yell at the rude rider, Jesse had to dodge a two-horse carriage. It was all he could do to keep from getting run down. He felt the spin of the large wooden wheel as it whirled by his nose.

  Everybody seemed to be in a hurry. Children were running, mothers with babes in their arms were trotting along the road. White men with pistols and knives on their belts were striding alongside black men with canes and top hats. They all seemed to be drinking whiskey from the same flask. A celebratory mood was in the night air.

  “Where are we going?” Jesse asked two teenaged boys.

  “We’re going to see Marie Laveau,” the tall boy said. “Everyone knows that. What are you, drunk? She’s doing Voodoo tonight. Keep walking, you’ll see her giant fire on Lake Pontchartrain.”

  Jesse stepped up his pace to keep up with the hurrying flow of pedestrian traffic. He looked around, hoping to see Carmen or anyone who looked the least bit familiar. The street became more and more crowded as he approached what seemed to be a major event. He knew he was getting close when he heard the drums, many drums, pounding out an ominous marching beat. He heard voices singing. It wasn’t a choir. It was a crowd of people, singing a beautiful song of togetherness. It was a melody at once mournful and uplifting. It was a slave chant that sounded like the beginnings of gospel music. Jesse was deeply moved. He felt like a runaway slave, terrified by evil in pursuit, yet joyful at the prospect of freedom. His feet of clay were on the road to salvation. Nothing could stop him now. He remembered what the Voodoo voice had said, “Drink deeply. You got to keep running.”

  A fire in the distance was shooting flames and sparks high into the sky. Now, he was running toward the blaze. Everyone was running. As he pushed his way into the gathered crowd, the scene felt more like a public lynching than any kind of spiritual revival. The stage looked like a hanging scaffold. Armed guards surrounded the performance area. The tall, wooden platform was far enough away from the massive bonfire to keep from catching fire itself, but anyone onstage would certainly feel the heat. The blaze was in front of the ceremonial platform. People surged all around like moths to the flame.

  Jesse felt someone take him by the hand. It was the mystery man from the bayou, known to Jesse as Gabriel. He was smiling broadly and reassuringly.

  Jesse was surprised to see him. He held out his arms for a hug. “Hey man, how’d you get here?”

  “Gabriel embraced him. “Same as you, We’re in the Voodoo dream.”

  “Are we here for good or do we go back?”

  Gabriel backed out of the hug and gave Jesse a reassuring pat on the shoulder. “Do not worry, my friend. Your mind will find its way home.”

  Jesse did not find that comment completely reassuring. “I knew you were different when you disappeared on the highway by the magic mushroom field.”

  “Didn’t I say you’d find all the Voodoo you wanted?”

  “I do remember that. I’ve been wanting to thank you.”

  “You are quite welcome, I am sure,” Gabriel said as he escorted Jesse to a perfect viewing position, no more than ten yards from the stage.

  Before Jesse could say another word, the master of ceremonies walked onstage like he owned it. The crowd roared its approval. He was dressed like a witch doctor, with a spear, ankle bells and feathers, a belt that looked like it belonged to a boxing champion, a horned buffalo hood and a flowing cape. The ceremonial leader was the vision Jesse had seen in the flames at the Safari Club. The leader did not speak. When he raised the spear over his head, dancers appeared on the stage, jumped down and began gyrating around the fire to a new, more sensual, drumbeat. They wore native Indian costume and threw bags into the fire that exploded into colorful fireballs. The drumbeat rose to fever tempo. The dancers were athletic and even acrobatic. The crowd chanted and clapped hands in unison until the witch doctor took center stage and, once again, held the spear over his head. The drums stopped immediately as the dancers exited behind the stage. The crowd fell silent. Everybody knew the master of ceremonies was about to speak.

  Jesse wondered how the man would possibly be heard over the fire and across the vast crowd.

  Jesse turned to speak to Gabriel, but saw only Carmen by his side. She squeezed his hand and looked at him lovingly. Her eyes seemed out of focus. She murmured softly and incoherently.

  Jesse started moaning himself when he heard the master of ceremonies begin speaking.

  It was the Voodoo voice. His Voodoo voice.

  The voice boomed into the night, loud enough for all to hear. Jesse was so surprised to recognize the voice that he forgot to listen to what it was saying. All he heard was one name spoken, “Marie Laveau.”

  The crowd gasped collectively as the Voodoo queen appeared. She was dressed like Carmen, but the scarf wrapped around her head was bright red and her dress was many colored.

  People immediately fell to their knees.

  “No, no, my children,” Marie said with a voice nearly as powerful as the witch doctor. “Rise up, rise up. Tonight we rise together. Tonight we heal each other. Tonight we begin the holiday that will last forever. Tonight we bring the Voodoo spirit down to heal every single one of us from all that ails us. The spirit will make the blind to see. It will make the crippled walk. It will free our minds from the sadness of this world in which we toil and weep. It will free our hearts and souls to rise up and be one with the Voodoo world.”

  An explosion in the fire sent up a massive fireball to provide a terrific exclamation to her prophecy. The crowd roared its approval and began stomping feet and clapping hands in unison. As Marie Laveau continued her ritual, Jesse saw the witch doctor with the Voodoo voice standing on the ground near the edge of the stage. They made eye contact from thirty feet away. Jesse felt irresistibly drawn to the man. He decided to approach him. It was now or never. This was the moment of truth. He would never forgive himself if he didn’t at least try to make contact.

  Carmen tried to stop him but he dragged her along by the hand until he was face to face with the man, or spirit, who had so perplexed and inspired his soul. She let go of his hand.

  The witch doctor opened his arms wide as if to take Jesse into his embrace. His eyes were wildly animalistic. His laugh sounded like a lion’s roar.

  He felt his heart melting as he leaped forward to embrace the Voodoo voice. Instead of making human contact, he slammed into the marble tombstone of Marie Laveau’s crypt and knocked himself unconscious.

  He must have been out for a long while. When he came to consciousness, he had a sinking feeling he was back in the graveyard. Everything was dark. There was no fire.

  Carmen was cradling his head in her lap. “You had a powerful vision, yes?”

  “Oh, my head,” Jesse said as he sat up and felt for injury.

  She put her arm around him for support. Her nose twitched slightly as though she was conducting a forensic, pheromone investigation. “You are fine. You have a big bump on your forehead and a little blood, but you’re going to be fine.”

  Jesse put his head on her shoulder. “I met the voice. He is the real deal. He is Marie Laveau’s witch doctor.”

  “What did he say to you?”

  “He didn’t say anything. He opened his arms to me and welcomed me into his world. When I tried to join him, something got in the way. L
ooks like the tombstone must have stopped me.”

  Carmen lifted his head gently off her shoulder. “It wasn’t the marble that stopped you. You ran into a wall of your own making.”

  Jesse rubbed his aching head. “What do you mean?”

  “The material world creates the illusion that each one of us is at the center of everything. The problem with being in the center is that everything and everyone around you creates a prison that separates you from what you really are.”

  “So what am I, really?”

  “You are part of everything and everything is part of you.”

  Jesse and Carmen got to their feet as she continued her explanation. “Think of your eyes. Everywhere you turn, your eyes bring the world to you. It is only natural to feel you are the center. But the eyes are the great deceivers.”

  “I’ve heard that said.”

  “Think about it, Jesse. What you see is not what you get. If something moves too fast, you don’t see it. If something moves too slowly, you don’t see it. If something is too small, you don’t see it. If something is too big …”

  “I don’t see it.”

  Carmen smiled patiently. “And you can’t see the Voodoo.”

  “I just saw it,” Jesse said.

  “No, you dreamed it.”

  “It felt so real.”

  “Now, think of your brain,” she said. “Like your eyes, your brain tricks you into thinking the world revolves around you. But it does not.”

  Jesse looked at her in epiphany and said, “Like the sun doesn’t revolve around the Earth.”

  “Exactly,” Carmen said.

  “So, how does the Voodoo world fit into the real world?”

  “They are two sides of the same coin.”

  “What are we supposed to do with the coin, besides flip it?” Jesse asked.

  “We don’t have to do anything with it, other than be at peace with knowing there is more to reality than the material side.”