by Jasper Bark
"Come on," said Benjamin. "There's loads of them and we don't have long."
When they were done Miriam returned, holding a large flask of oil and a broom. She told Benjamin to clear away all the glass while she and Tatyana arranged the Pot-tets in a particular formation on the floor.
Once the floor was clear and the containers were in place Miriam uncorked the flask of oil. With the oil she drew an intricate pattern around the Pot-tets.
"You're drawing one of those patterns I keep seeing everywhere," said Tatyana. "What are they called?"
"Vèvès," said Miriam. "They're used in most ceremonies. They represent a sacred geometry that creates a space for heavenly bodies to dwell. They reproduce the astral forces of the Loa and act as a beacon that calls them to our world."
"Do you have like, different Vèvès for every Loa then?"
"And every ceremony, yes. This is the Vèvè for the ritual of the Boulez-Zain-Les-Mort."
"I'm sorry to keep coming out with questions, but I am so fascinated I can't tell you. Do you mind if ask what that is?" Tatyana said.
"No, I don't mind. You do not realise it yet but there are forces at work here that compel you to ask those questions, and oblige me to answer them. You remember I told you that for a while the souls of the dead initiates return to their Pot-tets? They do this to shelter from the immense cold they feel after their earthly body has died. The Pot-tets is filled with remnants of their earthly form so they feel safe there.
"We must feed and nurture the deceased souls so they're strong enough to walk the roads of the dead and join the Loas in heaven. The Boulez-Zain-Les-Mort is a fire rite to warm the dead souls and set them on their way to heaven. Because the souls in these Pot-tets are not initiates and aren't dead it won't have that effect on them. It will break the spell they are under though and that will sabotage this whole soul bank."
"What will happen to all the souls?"
"Unless they return to their living bodies they'll be trapped on the earthly plane, unable to leave the Pot-tets. Without any strength or sustenance they'll begin to wither and slowly fade, denying their owners any chance of immortality in the afterlife."
"Whoa, that's harsh."
"Not as harsh as the fate to which these people condemned my fellow islanders," said Miriam, finishing off the Vèvè. "And it doesn't deny them the possibility of redemption."
She bent and set a candle to the oil. The flames raced round the Vèvè and crackled around the Pot-tets.
Miriam raised her arms in a gesture of great reverence and began to chant. "O vèvè Voudoun vè, Bon Dié O! O vélà Kounn tié. Vélà Kounn tié! Dambala Wédo Kounn tié!"
The flames leapt higher. The heat was immense. Tatyana and Benjamin had to retreat. Miriam seemed unaffected. The seals on the Pot-tets began to melt with the heat.
Tatyana heard a scream that seemed to come from as far away in time as it did in space. As it got closer, she felt it not just with her ears but with her whole mind and body. As the scream got louder it drowned out every other sensation until it was too painful to bear. For the sake of her mind and her sanity she let go of her consciousness.
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Cold. Something was cold. His cheek. The side of his face. Benjamin's mind drifted back to his body. The cold sensation was like an anchor that dragged him back to the present.
He became aware of his body. His shoulder hurt. He was lying on his side on a hard floor. He opened his eyes and sat up. Where was he? He didn't recognise the room. It was dark and shadows flickered warily across the broken glass boxes on the walls, as though afraid of cutting themselves.
A woman was standing in front of him holding a candle. Tatyana moved next to him. Tatyana, he recognised her, his first concrete memory. It stirred up others.
He was on an island - St Ignatius, in a cryogenics lab. There were souls in those pots. The spell that held them had been broken.
There was more. His Mom - he'd let go of the pain. He felt a sense of loss at this memory. No, not loss, lightness. The loss was for his Mom - the closeness they no longer felt. He missed that. He missed his Mom.
The woman offered him her hand. Miriam, that was her name. It didn't suit her. It was wrong somehow. He stood with her help.
"Miriam," he said. "That's not your real name is it?"
"It's the name I wear with this body."
She was being mysterious again. She was like that. She'd trust them with a little bit of information then she'd pull back. He bent down and helped Tatyana to her feet. Miriam gave them candles.
"That was intense," Tatyana said. "Was I out for long?"
"Only a matter of minutes," said Miriam. "It was only because you were so close to the point of release that you passed out at all. The others will be unconscious for a long time."
"The others?" said Benjamin. "You mean the people whose souls were banked?"
"Yes, the ritual set off quite a shockwave and it will have hit them hardest. I think it's time for us to leave."
"Where are we going to go?" said Tatyana.
"We need somewhere more fortified. I can't keep us all safe in the Ounfó. There's an abandoned copper mine about twenty minutes from here. We can hide out there until the time is right."
"Right for what?"
"To bring my people back."
"And how long will that be?" said Benjamin.
"Less than a day now. But come, we need to get going before the guards come round."
She left the cryogenics room and Tatyana went with her. Benjamin took one last look at the rows of shattered glass compartments and the blistered Pot-tets.
The seals on the charred earthenware containers were broken. In the wavering candlelight, Benjamin was sure the Pot-tets were making a noise. Not one he could hear directly. If he listened for it, it wasn't there. It was like those things that you only saw out of the corner of your eye. Except you could only hear this out of the corner of your ear, if there was such a thing.
It wasn't a good noise. It was mournful and full of regret, like a wail of loss or a scream of self-hatred. He suddenly felt extremely unnerved and realised that he didn't want to be in this room anymore. In fact he never wanted to be in there again.
Benjamin joined Miriam and Tatyana in the main chamber of the Holy of Holies. They were watching an elderly female Zombie standing in front of the Pé. The Zombie was trying to pick up some of the pots on the stone altar and open them, but her dead fingers fumbled with the lids.
The Zombie was transfixed by the stuffed snake on the altar. She put out her hand and her fingers brushed against the scales of the serpent. Benjamin had never seen a Zombie do anything with such gentleness and care.
Her hand fell on a bowl full of white powder. She lifted it to her face and sniffed. Some of the powder stuck to the dry wrinkled skin of her face, giving it an almost comical look.
With even more care than before, she put her hand into the bowl. Benjamin could see her hands twitch as the wasted and rotting muscles of her arm fought to fulfil a simple task. Even still she was able to lift some of the powder between her fingers and shake it onto the floor.
"She remembers," said Tatyana. "It's like she's drawing one of those things, a Vèvè. "
"In her day she was one of the most skilled and proficient of the Ounsi," said Miriam. "Her work was spectacular. No Ounfó was ever blessed with a better artist."
"So you know her then?"
"I ought to, she gave birth to and raised me."
"That's your mother?" said Benjamin.
He was suddenly moved by what Miriam must be going through. She was surrounded by the walking corpses of all the people she cared most for. He couldn't imagine how she felt. He remembered how he felt watching his Mom change when she married Richard. She'd been so full of fun when it was just the two of them. She was as much his best buddy as his Mom.
Then Richard came along and she totally altered to fit in with what he expected from a wife. As she became more formal and joyles
s each day, it was like something inside her died. But that was nothing like what Miriam was facing.
If anything it was similar to what his great aunt had gone through when her second husband lost his mind. She had to watch him become a shell of his former self. There was nothing left of him at the end.
That was only one loved one. Miriam had to cope with her whole community becoming less than human. Benjamin began to feel ashamed that he'd actually referred to them as noble monsters. He had no idea at the time, but even still, no wonder she was such a bitch to him.
Miriam led her mother out into the Peristyle where they collected the other Zombies and left the Ounfó. As they walked past the unconscious soldiers slumped over their weapons among the foliage the sky began to lighten. It would be morning soon.
"Were you close to your mother?" Benjamin asked.
Miriam shook her head. "We fought constantly. We were too alike, both headstrong. The last time we spoke I told her I never wanted to see her again. I wish I could take those words back."
"What did you fight about?" said Tatyana.
"A man. She never approved of my lovers. And it pains me to say it, but this time she was right."
"Was it one of the men here?" said Tatyana. "I mean, you know..."
"Yes I know what you mean. And no he isn't undead, but he is here on the island. In fact he now runs it."
"What?" said Benjamin. "You mean Doc Papa was your lover? I don't believe it."
"I'm afraid it's true."
"But that can't be. I don't understand. How come he didn't recognise you the minute he saw you? Why didn't he guess what you were going to do?"
"For a start he thinks I'm dead and that he was the one who killed me. Secondly, as you quite rightly guessed back there in the Ounfó, Miriam isn't my real name, and this isn't the body I was born with."
"Now you've really lost me."
"What is your real name then?" said Tatyana.
"It's Brigitte. Brigitte Laveau."
Chapter Thirty
A Year Ago
"Behold, I tell you a mystery. We shall all indeed rise again: but we shall not all be changed. In a moment, in the twinkling of an eye, at the last trumpet: for the trumpet shall sound and the dead shall rise again incorruptible. And we shall be changed..."
Oliver gripped Brigitte's hand as the priest droned on. It was the first sign that he was letting go of his emotions, like a sudden drop in temperature signals a coming storm. His shoulders started to shake. She put her arm around his waist. He dropped his head on her shoulder and began to sob. "Oh, Miriam, Miriam, Miriam," was all he could say.
"Anima ejus, et ánimæ ómnium fidélium defunctórum, per misericórdiam Dei requiéscant in pace. Amen," the priest intoned as the coffin was lowered into the grave.
The air was still and the sun shone bright. It was unseasonably warm even for New Orleans, as though the weather was trying to make reparations for the fury it had unleashed so recently.
The familiarity her new body felt with Oliver's touch only distanced her from it. Though he had come to loom so large in her life, he was still a relative stranger. The handful of mourners who stood by the graveside and placed consoling hands on Oliver's shoulder were friends of his and Miriam's. Brigitte had never met any of them. From the grief Oliver showed, they all supposed that it was a close family friend he was grieving. None of them guessed it was really his wife.
It was a strange thing to attend your own funeral in a foreign land. Brigitte had to keep the range of emotions she felt at bay, so she could be strong for Oliver. Seeing the coffin in the ground was not as unnerving as seeing her corpse in an open casket at the vigil the night before.
Her old body had seemed so alien to her as it lay in a coffin surrounded by candles. There was the old scar on her hand. There was the face she had seen in the mirror, whose changes she had tracked since childhood. Yet it no longer belonged to her. It was separate from her and she felt disdain for it.
"Take us home," Oliver told the driver as they climbed into the limo. "I want to be alone with my..." he hesitated to say the word 'wife', settling on, "... we want to be alone with each other."
"What about your guests?" said Brigitte.
"They'll understand. Why, did you want to spend time with them?"
"No, it's alright. I'm happy to do what you want. You're the one in mourning."
"Funny, I thought we were both grieving our loss."
The last remark was surprisingly thoughtful of him, to think of her loss in his hour of grief. Maybe the next nine or ten months with him wouldn't be as difficult as Brigitte feared. She was not seeing him at his best. This was a difficult time for both of them.
Oliver put his arm around Brigitte and pulled her close. She might have objected another time but she knew he needed the comfort. As his hand slipped from her shoulder to her hip she could tell that comfort wasn't all he wanted.
She told herself that this was okay. He was in a difficult place at the moment and his feelings were confused. Actually she recalled reading that it was a natural part of the grieving process to feel strong desire soon after losing a partner.
She was also aware that she had an obligation to Oliver and Miriam. An obligation that, once fulfilled, would ensure the lives of everyone on St Ignatius. Brigitte rested her head on Oliver's shoulder and gazed out of the window. Her mind went back over her first months in the city.
Brigitte had first met Oliver Chevalier in a trailer park for evacuees in the Lower Ninth Ward of New Orleans. She was staying with a group of ex-pats from St Ignatius who had all lost their homes in the flood.
Oliver had been helping with the reconstruction of the Lower Ninth. This area of the city had been hit hardest by the hurricanes and he had set up a foundation to raise money to restore and rebuild it. The people she was staying with knew Oliver's family came from St Ignatius and he still had an interest in the island. They were also aware that his wife was very sick.
Oliver did not serve the Loa. He was Catholic, but he had a great respect for the religion of his ancestors. He had been raised by his grandmother who grew up on St Ignatius and told him stories of the Voodoo ceremonies of her youth.
Brigitte was introduced to Oliver as a Mambo, a powerful Voodoo priestess. Her fellow islanders were sure she could help with Oliver's wife Miriam. Oliver was very wealthy. He had paid for the best medical care available, but nothing was working. He was ready to try anything, including the Voodoo his grandmother had told him so much about.
Brigitte agreed to help Miriam but she was keen to limit both Miriam and Oliver's expectations. Oliver said he understood and offered Brigitte a guest cottage on his estate in the Garden District. This was how Brigitte came to meet Miriam Chevalier, the woman whose body and identity she would eventually assume.
They did not hit it off straight away. Miriam was a devout Catholic and did not want some "medicine woman" trying to cure her with "evil spirits". Brigitte was careful to reassure her that she had no truck with evil forces. Instead she spoke about her own belief in God and her relationship with the saints.
Brigitte also provided a sympathetic ear to Miriam as she spoke of what troubled her most. Her anger at the disease that was killing her. Her regret for all the things she wouldn't get to do. Her dismay that she would never be able to give Oliver what he wanted most of all from their marriage.
More than anything, Miriam confided, she was afraid of the months of pain and wasting that were to come. So afraid that she was strongly considering euthanasia. She knew of clinics in Europe that could provide the service simply and painlessly. Miriam wanted to die with dignity and without suffering, but she was afraid of how this would endanger her immortal soul. She could not reconcile her wishes with her belief that suicide was a sin.
A deep affection grew between them as they prayed and spoke and wept together. They shared stories of growing up and Miriam became as fascinated with Brigitte's heritage as her husband was with his grandmother's tales of Voodoo.
Brigitte also told Miriam of the dreadful plight that had befallen her fellow islanders. Miriam could not quite believe Brigitte at first. Nothing like that happened in the privileged world she lived in.
She knew that Brigitte wouldn't lie though. And the Bible spoke of the dead returning to life so she could believe that, if she stretched her imagination. What Miriam had most problem in accepting was the thought that someone could actually reduce an entire community to nothing more than walking corpses in order to enslave them. She couldn't conceive of human beings reduced to monstrosities so that that rich Westerners could study them and learn to become crueler and more exploitative.
In a way Brigitte shared her disbelief. It was hard to believe that any human being was capable of such measures. But with patience and tact, Brigitte pointed out to Miriam that it wasn't so far removed from how the West already treated much of the Third World.
After all, Brigitte argued, the sweat shops that supply the West with cheap consumer goods reduce the men, women and children who work in them into disposable labour. When the bottom line is driven by how cheap the cost of labour is then labour becomes a mere commodity and so do the human beings providing it. Taking away someone's life and turning them into a Zombie is simply the logical conclusion of an economic system that takes away people's working rights and turns them into units of labour in order to enslave them in poverty.
Miriam was uncertain about this. She thought Brigitte might have a point but it sounded to her like she was preaching socialism, so Brigitte let the matter drop. It wasn't until Brigitte broke down and spoke of the guilt she felt for the part she'd played in what happened that Miriam truly came around.
Brigitte had trained the man who'd enslaved her island and given him the tools he used to do it. What's more she'd saved his life when he was first washed up on its shores, the only survivor of a dreadful accident. She'd nursed him back to health and they'd become lovers.