Hoodoo

by Ronald L. Smith

Think you’re brave, boy? Show yourself. Give me that hand!

  I shivered. I hadn’t even thought about that. I remembered that scream floating on the air: Lord, Jesus! It seemed like a long time ago.

  “Well,” Bunny said, “if he comes anywhere near us, I’ll chop his fool head off!” She reached in her back pocket and flipped out her knife.

  I had to laugh at that, even though I had the creeps.

  A tree root jabbed my backside, so we got up and moved to another spot. I took all the stuff out of the bag, stuck the candles down in the dirt, and lit them with a match. Bunny watched me the whole time.

  An owl hooted and I jumped inside my skin.

  I took out the Bible and turned to the page with Saint Michael, then pressed in the center so it was lying down flat. The candles, the Bible, and all the other stuff made me think about the altar Mama Frances had at home. I took the red pouch out of my bag.

  “What you gonna do now?” asked Bunny.

  “I gotta put in this here John the Conqueror Root.”

  I opened the pack and reached inside. The root was brown and scratchy-feeling, and about the size of a small rock. I took out a piece and put it in the mojo bag.

  “Hoodoo?”

  “Uh-huh?”

  “Where’d you get that stuff?”

  I swallowed hard. I could’ve said I got it from Mama Frances, but that’d just be telling lies on top of lies. “Miss Carter’s,” I said. “I had to take it, Bunny. I’m gonna pay for it when I get done with all this.”

  She nodded. “I believe you,” she said.

  I looked inside the mojo bag: cat’s-eye stone, broken chain, rat bone. I’d almost forgotten one last thing. I reached in my pocket and took out the pinch of salt I put there earlier and sprinkled that in too.

  “There,” I said. “Now we gotta pray over it.”

  I opened up the powwow book. Bunny moved one of the candles closer and put a rock on the pages to keep it open. I was pretty sure I could remember the prayer without looking, though.

  “Hold hands,” I said.

  She gave me a little smile, then reached out her hand. I took it in mine. I felt like a grownup because I wasn’t shy about it. This was serious business.

  We sat real still. The candle flame waved back and forth. After a minute, when I didn’t hear nothing but my own heartbeat, and with Saint Michael looking on, I closed my eyes and said the words. I didn’t even open them to look at the book.

  Saint Michael the Archangel, defend me in battle.

  Be my defense against the wickedness and snares of the devil.

  May God rebuke him, I humbly pray, and do thou,

  O Prince of the heavenly hosts, by the power of God,

  thrust into hell Satan, and all the evil spirits,

  who prowl about the world seeking the ruin of souls.

  Amen.

  I swear it got so quiet right then you could hear a fly walking on a piece of cotton.

  “You okay, Bunny?” I asked.

  “I’m okay,” she said. “You okay?”

  “Yeah.”

  My left hand tingled. It was hot, like I was holding it too close to a flame. There was a sharp smell in the air too, like right before a lightning storm.

  “There,” I said. “Now I gotta spit in it.”

  Bunny screwed up her face. I felt right foolish doing it, but went ahead and spit in the bag.

  “That’s what you call fixin’ it,” I told her, and pulled the little string tight.

  “Open that bottle, Bunny.”

  She picked up the Kananga Water and unscrewed the top, then handed it to me. I poured a little into my palm and then rubbed it on the bag. “This is called dressing the mojo bag.”

  Bunny looked at me like I knew my stuff. I was doing hoodoo!

  I took the bag and waved it over the flame, making sure it didn’t pass through it. That’s what the powwow book said to do.

  “That’s it,” I said. “Now we’re done.”

  I stuck the bag in my pocket.

  We sat there for a few more minutes, not saying anything. The sun was just starting to set and hung low and orange in the trees. The air was cool on my face. Every now and then I heard a splash in the river. Did fish sleep, I wondered, or were they always swimming?

  I needed to get back home. I didn’t want to get a switch so Mama Frances could beat my butt. That didn’t make no kind of sense: getting a switch to beat your own behind with.

  “Hoodoo?” Bunny asked.

  “Yeah?”

  “You got to be careful.”

  “I know,” I said. “Mrs. Snuff said I’m supposed to keep this mojo bag close.”

  “Good,” she said. “Now that stranger won’t be able to get to you.”

  I wondered about that, and hoped it was true.

  The Man with Two Faces

  I was gonna get my butt beat.

  It wasn’t all the way dark yet, so we ran as fast as we could. I knew the paths through the woods like the back of my hand, but I still tripped on some big tree roots and landed with my face in the dirt. My elbow got banged, too.

  By the time I got Bunny home and then made it to my own house, sweat slicked my face. Now it was really dark. Dang!

  If you come in this door after dark, Hoodoo, you may as well bring the switch with you.

  I opened the door real quiet-like. I just knew Mama Frances was gonna be up waiting for me. I crept into the house on my tiptoes.

  Cousin Zeke and my granddaddy sat at the table, looking all serious. What was Pa Manuel doing here? The only time he came over was to chop firewood or drop off big bags of potatoes. Were they gonna take turns beating my behind?

  I was in trouble.

  “Sit down, Hoodoo,” my granddaddy said.

  I walked a few short steps and pulled out a chair. It scraped the floor, as loud as thunder. The lantern on the table glowed dull yellow. A moth flew around it, banging into the light over and over. Nobody seemed to care enough to shoo it away.

  I looked at my granddaddy, dressed up in a suit and a tie like always. His skin was as light as a white man’s, and his wavy hair lay flat on his head. He had a mustache that curled up on both ends, like a cowboy’s I saw in a schoolbook. Some folks said his daddy was a slave master who got one of the slaves to have a baby. Whenever I asked why Pa Manuel looked like a white man, people told me to let sleeping dogs lie. I didn’t know what that meant, and when I asked Mama Frances, she said it meant to keep my fool mouth shut.

  “Hey, Hoodoo,” Zeke said, kind of soft-like.

  “Hey, cousin,” I said.

  Mama Frances came in from the kitchen with a glass of sweet tea. She put it down beside Pa Manuel. There was a bad feeling in the air, like two cats circling each other just before they got to spitting and hissing. I didn’t understand how two people could be married for a long time once but not like each other anymore.

  Pa Manuel picked up the glass and sniffed it.

  Mama Frances rolled her eyes. “Emanuel Hatcher,” she spit out. “You think I’m gonna jinx you in front of this child?” She shook her head. “Sweet Jesus.” She always said this whenever she was fed up with something. Sweet Jesus.

  I was confused. How come Mama Frances wasn’t looking at me like she was gonna beat my behind?

  My grandfather sipped slowly and then swallowed. He licked his lips and then nodded like everything was okay. Mama Frances sat down at the table and continued to shake her head.

  Pa Manuel looked at me. “Your grandmama told me what’s been happening with you, Hoodoo.”

  Dang! I knew she’d say something.

  “Tell me all of it,” he said, setting down his glass, “and don’t leave nothing out.”

  I looked to Zeke and then Mama Frances. Their faces were blank. That meant I’d better tell the truth, so I started talking.

  Pa Manuel listened without saying a word. His gray eyes seemed to go right through me. I told him about Mrs. Snuff at the fair, the old black crow, the nigh
tmares, and the flying dream too. Mama Frances looked at me like I was crazy. All this time she’d been telling me to come to her, and now it was finally spilling out. I wasn’t trying to keep secrets. I just wanted to keep my family safe.

  When I was finished, Pa Manuel leaned back and pulled out a little cigar from inside his suit jacket. He picked up a match from the table and scratched it against the bottom of his shoe, then lit the cigar and blew out a cloud of smoke. The air suddenly smelled all sweet and syrupy. He leaned forward a little and his chair creaked. He stared hard. “Is that all, Hoodoo? Everything?”

  I bit my lip. Cousin Zeke and Mama Frances were still staring at me. I blew some hot air out of my mouth and, as much as I didn’t want them to, the words just kind of fell out. “I saw him,” I said. “The Stranger. Down at the swamp. He wanted to chop off my hand.”

  “Hoodoo!” Mama Frances cried. “What’ve I been saying all this time? Didn’t I tell you to come to us?”

  “Didn’t want to cause no trouble,” I said. “I didn’t want nobody getting hurt.” I stared at my feet.

  Pa Manuel looked at me and said something under his breath. His face was tight. “That’s right Christian of you, Hoodoo, but this here is serious business. You should have come to me or your Mama Frances.”

  “Yes sir,” I said.

  Mama Frances shook her head back and forth. “Fool, child,” she whispered.

  “Why’s he looking for me?” I asked. “I didn’t do nothing! Why’s he want to chop off my hand?” It all came out in a rush, before I had a chance to think about it.

  The room went silent. Zeke coughed and took out his hankie. He wiped his forehead. That made me think about the first time I saw the Stranger, when Zeke looked like he was having a conniption.

  It was getting hot, like the Stranger and his fiery breath was in the room with us.

  Pa Manuel looked to Mama Frances. “There’s something we got to tell you, boy,” he said, “and there’s no better time than now.”

  I swallowed hard.

  He took another drink and set down the glass. “When your Mama Frances told me about you acting strange lately, I got to thinking.”

  My left hand felt all wet and clammy. I rubbed it with my other hand. Pa Manuel’s eyebrows rose up like fuzzy caterpillars. “Your hand feeling funny, Hoodoo?”

  “Yes sir—I mean . . . no.”

  He tilted his head. “Starting to make sense now,” he whispered, combing his fingers through his wavy hair.

  “Hoodoo, child,” Mama Frances said. “What we got to tell you is serious. And it has to do with your daddy.”

  I knew Daddy was mixed up in this. I just knew it!

  “What do you mean?” I asked. “He just ran off, right? That’s what everybody said. That he ran off and came to a bad end.”

  I looked to Mama Frances, hoping she’d nod her head that I was right, but she didn’t. She just sat there, wringing her hands. She looked like she wanted to come over and hug me.

  “What we did,” Mama Frances went on, “we did to protect you, child. We didn’t want you to stumble in the world before you even had a chance to walk.”

  I screwed up my face. I had no idea what she was talking about.

  “What does that mean?”

  Mama Frances sighed. “Hoodoo, when you were little, your daddy tried to help a white man named Ernest Ford with a spot of bad luck one time. This man was a gambler, see, and meaner than two dogs fighting. He wanted something to help him win big. So your daddy made him a mojo bag that was supposed to help.”

  She stopped and took a hankie out of her pocket. She blew into it. Her eyes were red. She waited for what seemed like a real long time, then lowered her head and shook it from side to side.

  Pa Manuel looked at her. I saw in his eyes that he still cared about Mama Frances, even though they weren’t man and wife anymore.

  “But supposedly the spell didn’t work,” Mama Frances went on, “and Ernest Ford lost a whole lot of money. I’m talking a whole lot of money, Hoodoo, enough to buy this little county three times over.”

  I sat in my chair. I didn’t want to know this story. Something bad was coming. I could feel it. My hand felt itchy again.

  Mama Frances sniffed. “And after he lost that money, he came after your daddy with an ax. Your daddy killed him trying to protect himself. Took Ernest Ford’s ax and chopped his fool head clean off.”

  I shivered in my seat.

  “But the man’s friends said your daddy put a curse on him, and they . . . they strung him up, anyway. I’m sorry, child.”

  My head felt heavy, like a rock, pressing down on my neck. They never told me this. They never told me any of it. They were keeping secrets. I didn’t like that one bit.

  “Strung him up?” I asked.

  “He was hung, Hoodoo,” Zeke said. “For murder.”

  Something tickled my brain. Something I knew, but didn’t want to think about.

  “Why?” I asked, looking at all of them. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

  Mama Frances dried her eyes. “Like I said, baby. We were trying to protect you. No child needs to know a story like that. Not even if it’s their own daddy.”

  No one spoke for a moment. The moth kept flying into the light, over and over and over. Pa Manuel’s cigar smoke swirled in the air. “I’m afraid there’s more to this here story, Hoodoo,” he said.

  I closed my eyes and swallowed. What could be worse than Daddy chopping off somebody’s head and getting hung for murder?

  Pa Manuel shifted in his chair. “I remember the day well,” he said, looking out through the little window. “It was just getting to be dark, the day your daddy died. The sun was setting like a fiery ball in the west. It was out by the old poplar tree in Cahaba. The hangman wore a black hood with two eyeholes cut out of it, so no one could see his face.”

  Pa Manuel stopped and swallowed. “But not everybody was out for blood that day, Hoodoo. Some colored folks started singing a song right then, whispering the words in the gathering dark:

  Swing low, sweet chariot,

  Coming for to carry me home.

  Swing low, sweet chariot,

  Coming for to carry me home.

  I looked over Jordan, and what did I see

  Coming for to carry me home?

  A band of angels coming after me,

  Coming for to carry me home.”

  My eyes started stinging when Pa Manuel whispered those words. I could see it in my head: the fiery setting sun, the hangman’s hood, the poplar tree with its twisted branches. Cousin Zeke and Mama Frances dropped their heads a little.

  “They threw the noose around your daddy’s neck,” Pa Manuel went on. “And that’s when he started chanting. His lips moved and whispered words I could barely hear. But I know when a spell is being weaved, and that’s what your daddy was doing. He was conjurin’.

  “And when they finally drew the rope up high and let him drop, I saw—” Pa Manuel stopped and whipped out a hankie from his suit pocket. He looked at Mama Frances and she nodded. Pa Manuel wiped his forehead. “I saw your face, boy. I saw your face flash across your daddy’s. Back and forth, like he was wearing two faces.”

  My legs felt weak and my head went dizzy. My hand started to ache—my left hand.

  I sat frozen. Pa Manuel slumped back in his chair. Mama Frances rose up and walked to a little table by the kitchen. She opened a drawer and came back with a bottle of moonshine. Pa Manuel took it and poured some in the glass he’d been drinking tea from. Mama Frances pulled out a chair closer to me and sat down again.

  “Why?” I asked. “Why was my face on Daddy’s?”

  Mama Frances put her hand on my shoulder. “Hoodoo, at the exact moment he died, even though you were being watched by Bunny’s mama at their house, you fainted and went into a fit. Bunny’s mama said your eyes rolled back in your head and you couldn’t speak.”

  I felt like the whole world had just crashed down on me. “Why?” I asked. “Why’d
I go into a fit?”

  Mama Frances closed her eyes a moment and opened them again. “We think your daddy was trying to do something to save his spirit.”

  “Save his spirit?”

  Pa Manuel looked straight at me. “I believe when your daddy died, he was trying to leave his body, boy. Trying to hide his soul somewhere.”

  I knew what was coming. But I didn’t want to think about it.

  “He tried to go into your body, Hoodoo,” Pa Manuel said. “He called on the powers of the dark, but it didn’t work.”

  I got the shivers all up and down my arms. He owes me a debt, and I come to collect.

  “And the force of that spell was so strong,” Mama Frances said, “it stripped away whatever little magick you might’ve had. And we think only a part of his spirit went into you.”

  “What part?” I asked. “What part of him went into me?”

  I knew the answer, but waited for it anyway.

  Pa Manuel leaned forward. “Mandragore,” he said. “That’s what that stranger’s looking for. The left hand of a man hanged for murder.”

  I swallowed.

  “That hand you got isn’t yours, Hoodoo,” Pa Manuel said. “It’s your daddy’s.”

  Stranglehold

  I looked at my left hand. I balled it into a fist and then opened it again.

  It wasn’t my hand. It was Daddy’s hand. The left hand of a man hung from the gallows. The Hand That Did the Deed:

  Murder.

  Pa Manuel mopped his forehead with his hankie again.

  “It’s called soul traveling,” he said. “Something our people don’t mess with, but your daddy did that day.” He looked at me hard. “It’s the same thing you did with your flying dream.”

  “I didn’t know I was doing it,” I said. “It just happened.”

  “Nothing just happens,” Zeke said.