by K.N. Lee
“Were you spying on us?” I asked him, already knowing the answer.
“I didn’t mean to. I was watching you, like I always do. And when you said my name, I couldn’t help myself. I couldn’t tune it out anymore.”
“I guess I can’t blame you for that.” I had to admit I would’ve done the same thing. “Do you believe what Camille said?”
“I do,” he nodded. “Camille has a special relationship with Filomèz. She has since she was initiated. We use her when we need to speak to Filomèz directly.”
“What do you mean you use her?” Recalling the terrifying images of my dream, I cringed at his choice in words.
“She is the one we use as the host. Filomèz has to possess someone. Camille most closely resembles what we traditionally picture as Filomèz’s representation, so she is the obvious choice.”
I gasped. “You mean you offer her as a sacrifice?”
“In a way. We don’t hurt her, Eliza. The host has to be willing. She wouldn’t volunteer if it made her uncomfortable.
I wasn’t so sure. Thinking of studies I had read about the self-mutilation people had inflicted on themselves in the name of their religion, I shuddered to think what really happened at the rituals.
“It’s not as dramatic as you think it is.” He was smiling now, and I couldn’t help but relax now that his demeanor had shifted.
“All right, so say she is right. Why won’t she explain it?”
“It isn’t her place to reveal the knowledge that she has been entrusted with. The only way to understand it is to ask Filomèz yourself.”
“Um, how would I do that?” I wasn’t sure I wanted to know.
“You’ll have to contact her. We’ll hold a séance tomorrow after nightfall.” He shifted under a sudden swell of anxiety. He needed clarity as much as I did and at least he had faith this spirit could give it to him.
A large lump formed in my throat and I was afraid of even the thought. He was suggesting I contact a spirit! Contacting the dead was considered a sin in the church I grew up in. But then again, my own ability was probably considered a sin to them as well. I couldn’t believe I was considering it, but perhaps Filomèz could offer me some perspective on my future.
“OK,” I agreed, cursing to myself as I did.
“We shouldn’t say anything to your aunt Vivian,” he instructed.
“Why not?”
“She…she wouldn’t like it.”
His obscurity was alarming. Even just this morning Aunt Vivian was the moon and the stars to him. Now his face was tensed with irritation at her expense, anger even. What had taken place at the house while I was gone? Knowing there was a good chance I had something to do with coming between them, I was swimming in guilt.
Even so, I wasn’t going to argue. I would rather not be around her right now. I was still suspicious of her, and I wanted the distance.
“If you think that’s best.”
“I’ll talk to Camille about it in the morning. I’m sure she’ll understand the secrecy.”
“I don’t understand the secrecy. Do you care to explain it to me?”
He didn’t answer. I didn’t have the patience for the games tonight, so I gave a curt nod and walked past him.
“Good night, Samuel.” I shook my head with frustration.
He held out his arm to barricade my path, and I stopped short, refusing to look at his face. He wrapped his fingers around my hip and I intuitively found myself swiveling toward him. Resting my head on his chest, I closed my eyes. This man couldn’t make up his mind and he was taking me down in his spiral of uncertainty. But God help me, I couldn’t pull away from him.
“Will you stay?” His question was frank and not expected.
“What?” I couldn’t believe he said it.
“For me. If Filomèz confirms what Camille said, and we are supposed to be together… Eliza, I will follow you anywhere regardless, but this is our home. Will you stay for me?”
He had me. Dangling in front of me was the thing I most desired. I was a baited fish and whether I liked it or not, my instincts would soon take over, forcing me to try to grab my life source before it disappeared. Even if it meant losing my freedom.
10
“Here, wear this. It will keep your spirit safe.”
Samuel placed a black string around my neck supporting a straw bag that was closed tightly. Whatever it held was heavy. Drawn on the front of the bag in red ink was a sloppy cross with several intersecting lines striking through it, along with an inscription that read: Al-Baqara 255.
“The Throne verse?” I thought out loud.
“Do you know it?”
I did. It was a famous verse from the Quran held sacred by the Muslims. So sacred, in fact, they were supposed to recite it every night. Reading it out loud was said to guarantee protection.
“My father was a Freemason,” I nodded. “He was also a very curious man. He enjoyed learning about different religions and cultural practices. I was going through his things one day when I was a little girl and came across an entire binder full of research he had done on the Quran. Why would this help me here? You aren’t Muslim. You’re Voodoo.”
“Voodoo is the melting pot of religions, Eliza. We take the best from everywhere and bring it together. That bag is called a djakout.”
I squeezed the bag and found two items I couldn’t quite place. “What’s in it?”
“It’s my mother’s protection amulet. And some pig bristles.”
“Pig bristles?” I scrunched my nose, and he laughed.
“They will keep you safe from someone cursing you.”
“Who would want to curse me?”
He didn’t answer, and instead made himself look busy. I smiled at the protection he was offering, even if I didn’t necessarily believe in it. It was real to him, and the meaning of the gesture was not lost to me.
We were near the bayou hidden from the world by a good amount of brush. Opened to us were a clear field and a large fire pit suitable for one of the almost-out-of-control bonfires we were famous for back home. It took center stage, with only dim embers offering light. If my eyes hadn’t already adjusted to the darkness I wouldn’t have been able to make out a thing.
Circling us were a few large trees that had bags similar to the one around my neck strung on them. Samuel had explained to me before a ritual began that we needed to present small offerings to the spirits we wished to speak with. The hanging bags were from past rituals.
Tonight it was me that would need to present the offering. Filomèz was a water loa, so I found it fitting to offer her something from the bayou itself. Short of jumping in the water and catching a fish by hand, I found the most respectful item to present—some bright purple Louisiana iris flowers that grew along the bank. I plucked the most beautiful ones I could find and carefully packed them into the empty djakout Camille had given me, making sure not to bruise them, and hung them up on the lowest branch.
I had also put together a bouquet of wildflowers. I didn’t know why yet, but I was told it was a critical part of the ceremony.
There were only about ten people present: Marcus, Camille, and Samuel being the only ones I knew. I creased the worry lines on my forehead when two young children, a boy and a girl, twins, about ten years old, were brought to us. I tugged on Samuel’s shirt, distracting him from a heated debate he was having with Marcus about where to set a food mat made of banana leaves.
“Why are they here?” I pointed toward the children.
“We need them for the ceremony,” he said coolly.
I inhaled sharply at the idea, and the worst case scenario immediately entered my thoughts. “You can’t sacrifice children!”
“What?” His voice was high-pitched and his face was screwed. “We don’t sacrifice people! Damn, Eliza. We aren’t monsters.”
“Then what are you going to do with them?”
“They aren’t going to be hurt. Its better you experience it without knowing.”
&n
bsp; I gulped hard. The anticipation was killing me. It was dark already, and the last details were being set into place. I pulled nervously at the loose, white dress I had to wear. It resembled a sheet with holes cut in it for arms and a head—not nearly as flattering as the garment in my dream. Irritating stands of hair fell into loose curls around my shoulders. I was used to wearing my hair up.
Samuel, on the other hand, looked dashing as always. He didn’t wear black as he did in my dream. Instead, he had on a suit of white that matched my clothes, as did everyone else present. His shirt had a slit at the top, offering just a peak of the smooth chest underneath it.
“Do you think it’s a good idea involving all of these people?” I asked. “What if one of them says something to Aunt Vivian? I don’t think she would be happy about missing my first ceremony.”
“No, she wouldn’t. She would be furious. But these people consider themselves your servant. They won’t breathe a word. They understand the importance.”
“Why does it matter if Aunt Vivian knows?” My curiosity was piqued.
“Are you ready?” Popping up from behind me, Camille was full of energy and excitement. Samuel’s face softened as if delighted at the interruption.
“Not really,” I admitted. She just giggled in response, and I hadn’t expected anything different. She was a giggler.
Samuel wrapped his arm around my waist and guided me off to the side to stand with me. We watched as the others gathered in the center, and we all took a moment to pray silently for protection. My hand went to the djakout that I was wearing while I said mine. Samuel then moved me to join the others.
“You need to ask for permission to speak with the loas since you’re not an initiate.” He handed me a yellow candle and some matches.
“What do I say?” I asked as I took the items from him and inched toward the center of the circle the others had formed around us.
“You don’t need to say anything. Your heart will speak for you.”
Joining me in the center was an elderly man wearing a straw hat. He offered a warm smile for comfort. He held a cane he clearly did not need, along with a djakout of his own that even from ten feet away smelled deliciously of rosemary and basil. Who was he? I would find out soon enough.
Standing only inches from the barely lit fire, I was feeling incredibly self-conscious as everybody was staring at me, waiting for me to do something. I sheepishly slipped to my knees and lit the candle, closing my eyes and inwardly asking for permission to continue.
“Little good Legba,” the man shouted, “open the door for me! I humbly plead with you, use my body as your vessel!”
Suddenly, a mighty tower of flames shot out from the embers. Losing my balance, I fell face-first into the dirt. I lifted myself back up to my knees, and the man that had been standing with me collapsed to the ground and convulsions racked his body. I searched the darkness for Samuel, terrified and paralyzed from my own fear.
I watched helplessly as the man in front of me thrashed and spit foam. No one came to help, so I collected myself and scrambled to his aide. After crawling to his side I held my weight on top of him, waiting for the seizure to end. I tried to soothe him with words of comfort, but gave up and just shut my eyes tightly to pray for his relief.
My fear heightened when he did finally stop. I thought he was dead as his breathing grew shallower and almost ceased completely. Fingers tangled in my hair, and I shot a look up at him. He was smiling but somehow his face had morphed into someone else’s entirely. His hair and beard had changed from salt and pepper to pure white.
I tried to pull back to run, but he caught my forearms before I could escape. There was no pain. In fact, I couldn’t feel his grasp at all on my skin. It was as if the air held me captive. Terror washed over me and I opened my mouth to scream, but his voice was boisterous and he bellowed over my cries.
“Don’t be afraid. I won’t hurt you, child.”
Looking down into his eyes, an immediate a sense of calmness took over. My breathing slowed and my heart rate returned to normal. He released me. I stayed on my knees while he climbed to a stand, resting his weight on the cane that had been provided to him. He opened the bag of herbs and inhaled the aroma, his face lighting up with pleasure.
“Yes, these will do nicely.” He resealed the bag and turned his attention back to me. “Here, let me help you.”
He extended his hand. I took it and came to stand next to him.
“Thank you,” I murmured. “But, who are you?”
“Well, my dear, you summoned me. And I don’t recognize you as a member, so I think you should tell me who you are.”
I didn’t know how to respond because truthfully, I didn’t know who I was. Not really, anyway. Searching for an appropriate answer, I stared blankly at him until the silence became deafening.
“I think I’m supposed to ask you for permission.” I imagined I must have looked like a mousey child, but I had to say something.
“Oh for the Spirit’s sake. Will someone joined in the circle come and assist this poor girl?”
I was grateful for the request, and even more so when Samuel’s face came into the light of the still growing fire. I passively calculated when the flames would reach their peak, but I was distracted by the sight of Samuel approaching us on his knees.
“Papa Legba,” he said submissively as he advanced. A drastic change from his typically domineering presence.
“Samuel!” The spirit shouted with familiarity. “Samuel, it has been too long since I have had the pleasure of your company, my boy. Stand up! I would like a better look at you. Where have you been?”
“Papa Legba, this is my healer, Eliza. I have been looking after her.”
“As well you should have been.” Legba patted Samuel’s shoulder before he turned to study me.
Squinting, he looked long and hard at my face. He lowered his glasses to his nose and brought his hand to his chin, rubbing it hard, deep in thought.
“Nicole Paris?”
“That’s what I’m told I was once called, yes.” I cleared my throat.
I jumped when he let out a loud hoot. Legba flailed his arms open wide and embraced me, lifting me off of the ground and shouting, “You’ve come back to us!”
I squealed with delight. “Are all the Spirits so friendly?” I asked Samuel. It was nice to feel so welcomed, I had to admit it.
“No.” Samuel was shaking his head in amusement. “No, Papa Legba is a favorite among us.”
“I can understand why. He’s absolutely charming.”
Once I was to my feet again I was surprised at the look of fatherly affection on Legba’s face. It was as if his lost child had finally returned home and he couldn’t believe his eyes. He took my face into his hands and kissed my cheek.
“They have been waiting a long time to speak with you, my dear,” he whispered to me. “I wish I could claim you for myself this evening, but I understand there are more pressing matters than an old man wanting to catch up with the lost priestess. She may pass!” His face hardened and his tone turned formal when he spoke to words to the stars.
“Thank you, Papa Legba.”
He only smiled before he fell back to the ground, and the fire simultaneously blew itself out. Washing over me was an unexplained sense of loss as the man at my feet turn back into the human host he had been only moments ago, but I was glad that he recovered quickly. Such a violent possession would have shaken me to my core, yet this man was completely unfazed and walked off as happy as could be.
Samuel and I left the center of the circle, too, and we climbed a tree to have a better view of the next ritual. Thankfully, I wouldn’t be required or even allowed to participate in this one since I wasn’t an initiate.
When the two children I had seen earlier were led to the center, my heart skipped.
“What is going to happen to them?” I pleaded with Samuel. “That man could have been killed during his possession. Children can’t be put through that! They would be
traumatized for life!”
I tried to jump from the branch where we were perched, but Samuel grabbed a hold of my arm and kept me dangling. I could hardly make out his urges for me to be silent through my cries of protest.
“Eliza! They aren’t going to be hurt,” he insisted, dragging me back up next to him. “Legba is the only spirit that manifests so violently.”
His promise at least stifled my frenzy and I allowed myself to watch the routine being played out in the near distance. Taking their place, the twins sat with crossed legs near the fire pit facing one another. Marcus came into the light and laid the large banana leaf he and Samuel had argued about earlier in front of them, and retreated only to be replaced by Camille. She placed some cookies on the banana leaf and sank to her knees beside the children, lifting her hands to pray.
“Marassa, we are in the dark. Marassa from Guinea, we are in the dark in front of God. Dossou Marassa, bring the lamp to shine upon us.”
All in attendance chanted the prayer with her repeatedly. Searching for a sign that their invocation had been successful a second time, I fixed my eyes on the fire pit. I parted my lips wide in astonishment as the embers reignited and turned a bright, neon green. A billow of blood-red smoke wrapped itself around the small circle of practitioners.
The chanting had stopped, and the air was deadly silent. The others did not seem to be afraid, but I could not believe the magic happening before my eyes. Returning my attention to the children, I held my breath, praying to myself, to my God, for their safety. My heart sank with relief when they stood unharmed and seemingly unpossessed.
“Marassa will not be making an appearance today,” Samuel said somberly.
“What do you mean?” I asked, thoroughly confused. “What about the smoke? And the fire—it’s green, Samuel!”
“That’s Marassa’s way of acknowledging our prayers to them.”
“Them?”
“Yes, them. Marassa are represented as twin children. Which is why we needed those two. Twice the power, twice the energy.”
“So Marassa won’t be using the children?”
“No.” Disappointment danced across his face, but I didn’t understand it. “The spirit only uses its provided host if the situation is appropriate, or if there is knowledge he or she wants to pass on.”