Hoodoo

by Ronald L. Smith

  “That was some dark magick your daddy did that day,” Mama Frances said. “And something was called up from the blackest night when he did it.”

  I shivered, and counted to five. Maybe I was dreaming. But when I opened them back up, everybody was still sitting in the dark dining room. “The Stranger,” I said.

  “I’m afraid so, Hoodoo,” Pa Manuel said. “Now he’s been roaming the land ever since. I reckon he wants that hand because your daddy was a powerful mojo man.”

  The more wicked his crime, the more powerful his hand.

  “That makes the hand stronger, see,” Pa Manuel said. “If the Stranger gets it, he’ll have the power to call up—”

  “That’s enough!” Mama Frances cried, shooting up out of her chair. “You gonna scare this poor child half to death!”

  “Hoodoo’s not a child anymore,” Pa Manuel said calmly. He fixed his eyes on me. “He needs to understand the power of the dark and the light.”

  I felt something stir in me at that second. It started in my belly and rose up to the top of my head, like pins and needles pricking my skin. Mama Frances took the bottle from Pa Manuel, turned it up, and took a long swallow. It was the first time I’d ever seen her drink. She sat back down and shook her head.

  “My daddy brought the Stranger here?” I asked.

  Pa Manuel nodded once.

  “The family blood is strong,” Mama Frances said. “And sometimes the sins of the father are cast onto the child.”

  “It’s in your hands now, Hoodoo,” Zeke said.

  They all looked at me right then, like I was a grownup. I looked down at my hand. The Hand of Glory. Main de Gloire. Daddy’s hand.

  The room was silent. A little moonlight came in through the window. The lantern on the table burned low.

  “You got to face your evil, Hoodoo,” Zeke said. “If people don’t face the danger that’s seeking them, evil will find them first.”

  I looked at him, and then Mama Frances, and then Pa Manuel.

  They had no right! They’d been telling lies and keeping secrets all this time. They thought I was too much of a baby to know about my daddy.

  We sat there until the lantern burned all the way down, not saying a word. The moth fluttered around a few more times, and finally folded its little wings and didn’t move again.

  I cried in bed, and when sleep finally came, bad dreams came with it: the hangman’s hood with flames burning in the eyeholes, creeping things that slithered on the ground, and the words to that song Pa Manuel whispered floating on a hot breeze.

  Swing low, sweet chariot,

  Coming for to carry me home.

  When I woke up, my head was foggy, like smoke was swirling around on the inside. Downstairs, Mama Frances was in the kitchen cooking up something, like always. She didn’t say good morning, just gave me a small smile and tipped some grits onto my plate. I had a headache and rubbed my head with two fingers.

  “I know that was a lot for you to hear last night, Hoodoo,” she said. “About your daddy.”

  I didn’t answer. I just stirred my grits. I wasn’t hungry.

  “But you have to know the truth, sometimes,” she said. “Even though it’s painful.”

  “Yes ma’am,” I said, staring at my plate.

  Mama Frances came and sat down next to me. She reached out to touch my hand, but I drew it back. She cocked her head, but didn’t look like she was gonna scold me. How could she be mad at me after they were the ones keeping secrets all this time?

  “You got to be extra careful from here on out,” she said. “Your Pa Manuel is going to help you.”

  “Don’t need no help,” I said. “You said the sins of the father are cast onto the child.”

  She narrowed her eyes. “Yes, I did say that, but—”

  “Well, I’m Daddy’s son,” I said, still looking down at my plate. “I have to take care of this myself.”

  Mama Frances’s eyes sparkled a little. “Like I said, Hoodoo. We kept this from you because you weren’t old enough to know. We were trying to protect you.”

  Lies. Lies. Lies. Lies.

  “Uh-huh,” I said. “I understand.” And then I set to eating my grits.

  Bunny sat on a tree stump out back, laying down cards for a game of hearts. I was in no mood for hearts but went along with it anyway. She’d come by after breakfast and I’d told her what Pa Manuel and Mama Frances had told me.

  “Daddy was a coward,” I said. “Nothing but an old scaredy-cat! How could he do that?”

  Bunny gave me a sad look. “Oh, Hoodoo. I am so sorry. Maybe he had to do it. You know, maybe something was making him do it. I’m sure he didn’t want to.”

  “They kept secrets,” I said. “All this time. They thought I was too little to know what really happened.”

  My eyes started stinging all of a sudden.

  “He killed a man and then they hung him! That stranger wants his left hand. And it’s on me, Bunny! It’s on me!”

  She reached out to touch my shoulder, and the next thing I knew I was crying, right in front of her. I couldn’t help it. The tears just rolled down my cheeks all salty and hot. I felt anger rising up in me like a dark cloud.

  Bunny took my left hand and turned it over in hers. “I’m sorry, Hoodoo,” she said.

  “He knew what he was doing—trying to send his soul into mine. He was scared and didn’t want to die.” I yanked my hand away.

  “That is a mess,” she said. “A dang shame.”

  She dropped her head a minute and then looked back up. “Does it feel any different?” she asked. “Like it’s not really a part of you?”

  “No,” I said, wiping away a tear. “I never noticed nothing before, except . . .”

  “What?”

  “It’s been itching something fierce. And sometimes it gets hot or cold.”

  Bunny looked scared but was trying to hide it. I could tell.

  “But you’ve got that mojo bag now,” she said. “You fixed it and dressed it. That’s gotta help, right?”

  “I hope so,” I said. But deep down inside, I knew it wasn’t enough.

  After Bunny left, I went walking. I needed some time to think. I thought about what Pa Manuel had said the night before—that Daddy was trying to save his spirit. It wasn’t right for him to do what he did—trying to send his body into mine. What would’ve happened if that spell had worked? Would I have disappeared? That just didn’t seem right.

  I had to have a plan. I needed to find the Stranger before he found me.

  You got to face your evil, Hoodoo, Zeke had said. If people don’t face the danger that’s seeking them, evil will find them first.

  Evil wasn’t gonna find me first. I was gonna find it.

  I passed Miss Carter’s and thought about going in to see Zeke but didn’t. People were sitting outside on apple crates playing dominoes. Cigar smoke floated on the air. Maybe I could find that shack where the Stranger lived—the one I saw in the spirit world. I could rush in and . . . what? I didn’t even know how to stop him.

  I sat down on the little steps in front of the schoolhouse. The teacher, Mrs. Gaines, liked to make things out of old junk. She said she was an artist. One of the things she made was right off to the side in the tall weeds—a bunch of steel and wood and rope all nailed together to look like a man’s face. It had bottle caps for eyes, a slat of wood for a mouth, and bent, rusty nails for hair. I didn’t really understand it, but I liked looking at it. Maybe that’s what art was: something you could look at to make you feel better.

  “Hey, Doo-doo, what you doing, boy?”

  I turned my head and stood up quickly, my left hand clenched.

  J.D. Barnes and Otis Ross came out of nowhere, both of them looking up to no good. I sucked in a breath. Dirt streaked their faces like they’d been digging around in the mud. Lookin’ for treasure, they called it. I didn’t know what kind of treasure they expected to find around these parts.

  They stepped closer. Sweat dripped down my ba
ck.

  “I asked you a question,” J.D. said.

  “Leave me alone,” I said, not looking at either of them. “I’m not bothering you.”

  “You got any money?” Otis spit out.

  I didn’t answer.

  “Where’s your girlfriend?” J.D. teased. “Funny Bunny. Isn’t that her name?”

  I raised my head and looked at J.D. He was about four inches taller than me, but it may as well have been six feet. He put his face just a couple inches from mine. He smelled like he hadn’t had a bath in ages. “Now,” he said slowly, drawing out the word, “I think you need to be taught a lesson. That fool Ozzie ain’t here to help you this time.”

  I gulped, and faster than lightning, J.D. kicked out with his left foot and swept my legs out from under me. I went down with a crash, right on my tailbone.

  “Woo-eeee!” Otis yelled. “Hoodoo Doo-doo afraid to fight!”

  He ran in circles, like a crazy dog chasing its tail.

  I pushed myself up on the heels of my hands. J.D. bounced on his toes and raised his fists.

  “Get him, J.D.,” Otis said.

  But before J.D. had a chance to swing—before I even had a chance to think of what I was going to do—my left hand shot out and grabbed him around his neck.

  And then I lifted him up.

  I swear, right off the ground. His legs dangled in the air and his eyes grew as big as a bull toad’s.

  “Stop!” he croaked, choking out the word. “Stop!”

  Otis just stood there with his mouth open like a barn door. But I didn’t want to stop. I felt strong. My left hand was all pumped up with power. Now I was the one in charge. “You gonna pick on me again?” I asked, looking up at him.

  “No!” he grunted. “Promise!”

  “Better keep your fool mouth shut!” I said, just like Mama Frances always told me. I unclenched my fingers and J.D. fell to the ground like a sack of potatoes.

  Otis looked like he’d been hit by a box of hammers. “That was voodoo,” he said, all afraid. “No wonder they killed your daddy.”

  My blood boiled when he said that. My left hand was hot and cold and itching all at the same time.

  I took a step toward him. “It’s hoodoo,” I said. “Not voodoo, stupid.”

  He stepped back and put both hands up in the air, like he was surrendering.

  “I think you better leave,” I said. “And don’t come back.”

  Otis bent down to help J.D. “Leave me alone!” he shouted.

  J.D. stood up and shot me a dirty look. He muttered something under his breath—probably some curse words—and then the both of them stomped off into the woods.

  I stood there for a long time, not even moving, and then finally looked down at my left hand. I felt the blood pumping through it, throbbing in time with my heartbeat.

  Right about then there was only one thing running through my mind:

  The more wicked his crime, the more powerful his hand.

  A Storm Is Coming

  I sat in the backyard under the pecan tree. My hand still felt full of power, like I could reach down and pull roots right out of the ground.

  A squirrel skittered up the side of the tree and climbed into the higher branches. I heard it rustling around, and a minute later, some pecans rained down around me. I picked one up and rolled it between my fingers.

  I was walking around with a dead man’s hand.

  I let out a breath. I felt something—a little tickle that ran along my left arm and then settled in my hand. The pecan trembled in my palm. I barely saw it shake, but I felt it. I thought about the Stranger trying to yank my hand off in the spirit world. I thought about J.D. and Otis and everyone else who ever picked on me. And then, right out of nowhere, the pecan flew out of my hand.

  A bunch of leaves got caught up in a circle and rose into the air. I stood up. Tree limbs creaked and whipped back and forth. Birds flew out of the high branches, making a racket. The clothes Mama Frances had put out on the drying line flapped and snapped in the wind. Little clouds of dirt swirled around, getting into my eyes. I spit dust out of my mouth.

  It’s too much! I need to calm it down!

  I closed my eyes. My ears were plugged up like I’d just put my head underwater. I took deep breaths. Stop! I said inside my head. “Stop!” I yelled out loud.

  My left hand was balled up in a fist. All this time I’d been squeezing so hard, my nails cut little marks in my palm. I slowly uncurled my fingers. “Be still!” I shouted.

  And the storm stopped in an instant.

  I raised my left hand and looked at it. I made a fist and then opened and closed it. My breath came short and quick. One of Mama Frances’s sheets was hung up in a tree, flapping in the quiet wind, like a ghost.

  I looked at my hand again. What else could I do?

  Flood the river and drown everybody in town? Call lightning from the sky and split a tree in two? My head was spinning, and I couldn’t think on one thing at a time.

  But then I realized what else I could do with this hand.

  I could kill that dang stranger.

  Mama Frances slid a hot hoecake onto my plate. Hoecakes are like flat cornmeal fried up in bacon grease, if you didn’t know.

  “Funny storm yesterday, huh, Hoodoo? Just rose up out of nowhere. Now, what would cause something like that to happen?”

  I stared at my food. She knew. Just like always. I couldn’t hide nothing from her. “I didn’t know I could do it,” I said. “It just kind of happened. I just thought real hard, and the wind rose up like that.”

  She sat down and reached across the table, placing her right hand over my left one. “That power you feel coming on isn’t something to play with. You have to be careful. Understand?”

  “Yes ma’am,” I said, not looking at her. I was still mad at everybody for keeping secrets.

  “Now eat your breakfast,” she said. “You need to help me finish the washing from yesterday.”

  I groaned. Helping with chores wasn’t my favorite thing to do. I ate my hoecakes and then went outside. Mama Frances came out of the house with a heap of clothes in her arms. “Go fetch some water, Hoodoo,” she called.

  We used to get our water from the well, but it was backed up and Pa Manuel needed to come over and fix it. I grabbed the bucket and headed down the path.

  The stream was just a minute or two away, down a hill and under the shade of long-beard trees. The water was a silver ribbon, splashing and gurgling over smooth stones. It was always cold, even in summer. Pa Manuel said it was a natural spring, whatever that meant.

  I slid down the hill, my feet planted apart sideways so I wouldn’t fall. It was kind of steep, and all the dirt and red clay made a little avalanche. I learned that word at the schoolhouse: avalanche. That’s when rocks and mud come sliding down a mountain, if you didn’t know.

  Could I cause an avalanche with my left hand?

  When I reached the bottom, I stood on a fallen tree trunk slick with green moss. I bent down and held the bucket sideways in the stream so the water could run into it. I did this while thinking that any second I was going to see the Stranger or hear his creepy song, but by the time the bucket was full, I hadn’t seen hide nor hair of him.

  For a quick minute, I thought about trying to do something else with my hand. Maybe I could reach down in the stream and pluck up a catfish for supper! But I didn’t think that was a good idea. Mama Frances’s words came back to me: That power you feel coming on isn’t something to play with. You have to be careful.

  Getting up the hill with the full bucket was the hard part, and I almost lost half the water. When I got back, Mama Frances already had a small fire going under the black iron pot.

  “Pour that water in right quick, Hoodoo,” she said.

  I stood up on my tiptoes and lifted the bucket as high as I could, then balanced it on the lip of the pot and tipped it. The water hit the bottom with a loud hiss.

  “Hmpf,” Mama Frances said, hands on hips. �
�That’s not a lot of water, Hoodoo. I remember a time when I used to go down to the stream and fetch two buckets myself!”

  She smiled and laughed a little when she said that, and I didn’t feel so mad anymore.

  Mama Frances had already scrubbed the clothes with a wire brush, so she threw them in the boiling water and then added some soap called Castile. She picked up a long wooden stick propped against a tree and slowly stirred the pot. This whole thing would take a long time, because after she got done stirring, she’d have to pull the clothes out and rinse them off with clean water and then hang them up to dry.

  “I’ll get more water,” I said, wanting to help for some reason.

  Mama Frances stopped stirring and kind of leaned on the stick for a second. She wiped her forehead with her free hand. She was tired already. I could tell. I wished I had some money so I could pay somebody to work for her, like she did for other people.

  I ran as quickly as I could, the bucket slapping my hip and sending a jolt up my spine. I slid down the bank and a bunch of dirt and pebbles traveled down with me, but I landed safely. I stepped into the stream, getting my shoes wet, but I didn’t care. This time, I promised myself, I wouldn’t spill a drop.

  I heaved the bucket back up the hill, the water sloshing back and forth. A dog was howling somewhere nearby, long and lonely.

  When I got back to the yard, I saw something on the ground, right next to the big iron pot. Mama Frances must’ve moved some firewood. But when I got closer, I saw it wasn’t firewood at all.

  It was Mama Frances.

  This Too Shall Pass

  “It was a stroke,” Pa Manuel said. His eyes were red-rimmed and his lips trembled.

  I’d never seen a man cry before, but he looked like he was about to or had just finished. He sniffed and blew into his hankie. “Old woman pushed herself too hard,” he said angrily.

  I reached out to touch Mama Frances’s hand. She was breathing slowly, lying in bed with a quilt wrapped around her. Her eyes were closed. She looked peaceful. I’d run to Pa Manuel’s as fast as I could when I found her like that, slumped down on the ground. He told me to run back home, quick as lightning. After what seemed like forever, he finally came over with a white man named Dr. Farley, who said she was lucky to be alive at her age after a stroke.