When The Shadows Began To Dance

by Yamaya Cruz

  The electricity got turned off, and we had no food in the house. Ali and I looked forward to going to school, because at least for six hours we had heat. I began to feel isolated, more than before. It seemed that none of the kids wanted to come near me. One day Ms. Paners, my homeroom teacher, took me aside. She was sure to remain about two good feet away from me. She looked down at me, cleared her throat, rubbed her nose and began to speak.

  “Nelandez, is everything alright at home?” I looked back at her with empty eyes. I knew the drill. I had rehearsed this line a thousand times along with the theatrics needed to convince the school officials that my mom wasn’t psycho, that we weren’t broke, poor, and starving.

  “No, you see my mom has been a little under the weather for the last week or so but —

  “So you have told me this story before, Nelandez. I’m sorry to tell you that I no longer believe you,” she said.

  I blinked my eyes a couple of times. I was a little disappointed that I wasn’t the convincing actress that I sought out to be.

  “I’ve seen a change in your behavior, your weight, and, to be frank, your personal hygiene.” I drew back. What? I never would have thought that the birdbaths that I took in the morning with cold water weren’t working. I guess that when you wear the same clothes day in and out, you’re just bound to smell. I hovered back, a little embarrassed, sniffing myself like a cat, wishing that I could lick myself clean. But I knew that just wasn’t possible.

  “I’m concerned about you,” she said reaching out to rest a hand on my shoulder but decided against it.

  “That’s why I’ve arranged for visitors to come to your house today,” she said, while crossing her arms over her chest.

  Oh no! Not the visitors, also known as child services. I couldn’t let them come today. My mommy was a mess. I wouldn’t have any time to warn her. I swallowed back a knot of fear.

  “Nelandez, you’re a smart, beautiful girl. The whole world is your future. You just make sure that you tell them the truth about yourself and your family.”

  I drew back. Fuck you, Ms. Paners. You used to be cool with me but now you are taking this whole teacher and student thing a little too far. I suppose that she could see the anger in my eyes.

  “I know that you don’t understand it now, but one day you will,” she said smiling. I wanted to spit in her face. It took every morsel of energy in my body to restrain myself. The thoughts kept popping up in my mind. Oh God! We’re going to get taken away. I am never going to see my momma again. I looked around; I silently wished that I could speak to the elderly woman again. She said that she would always be with me. She was never around when I needed her. I spent the rest of the day sulking and thinking of ways to ditch school. I needed to run home and warn my mommy. I felt helpless and yet, at the same time. I felt like this was all my fault. I couldn’t wait for my last class to end. The bell rang and I practically ran home.

  “Nelly! Nelly!” I looked back and saw that Ali was directly behind me. He motioned for me to slow down. I looked at him: he looked worried; I could only guess that he had been taken aside and given the news too. Talking about it would have made everything worse. Instead, we both quickened our steps and trotted home, hoping to get there before the visitors arrived.

  I could smell the smoke about a mile away. The black smoke filled the air, and I stared with amazement at the bonfire that was created on the front lawn. The flames danced with anticipation as my mom circled around it, like she was conducting some kind of shamanic ritual.

  “I gave you everything Alijondro,” she screamed as she hurled one of my daddy’s shirts into the fire.

  “And what do I get in return? LIES!” She screamed as she shoveled a trash bag of shoes into the flames.

  “You left me with nothing!” she screamed again, beating her chest like a cavewoman and waving the empty trash bag in the air.

  Our neighbor’s lawns were filled with gaggles of people who were watching the spectacle unfold. My mother’s performance was more exciting than watching the winter Olympics. They whispered to themselves and began to twirl their fingers round their ears indicating that my mother was crazy. I heard sirens roaring. A fire truck pulled into the driveway, followed by a stream roll of police cars.

  One officer ran over to her and tried to restrain her. My mommy couldn’t fight. She was frail, and had used the bulk of her energy lighting the fire. He grabbed her by the hands, but she was fragile. She collapsed and fell to her knees, her spirit broken into a dozen pieces like an antique vase. The police officer had no mercy. He shoved her to the ground and placed her hands behind her back before he put the handcuffs on. No! No! No!

  “Momma!” I screamed. But my cries were drowned out by all of the ruckus. The firemen put out the fire in less than five minutes. The police officer lifted my mother off of the ground. The left side of her face was soiled, dried leaves were stuck in her hair, and the bottom half of her sweater was seared from the flames. The police tucked her head into the car. She resisted against it. She looked drained, exhausted.

  Someone was tugging on me. I was lost, almost in a trance. I looked behind me and saw that Ali was pulling my arm.

  “We got to go,” he said. I shook my head. I didn’t want to go and leave our mom; we had to be a family. We needed to be a family.

  “Nelly, do you want to be taken away?” he continued; I just looked at him. For some reason my mind couldn’t process the words that he was saying.

  “You’ll never see me or mom again,” he yelled knocking some sense into me. Yes, he was right. We had to run. It was best that we stayed together. Families needed to stay together. We blended into the crowd. Ali was still tugging on my arm. I had to take two steps in order to keep up with one of his. He was moving way too fast. I paused. I was tired, I needed to rest and think about what had just happened. Ali felt the dead weight. He turned around, grimaced and yanked hard on my arm like I was a dog on a chain. I mistakenly bumped into a plump woman, who was standing with her feet spread apart and had her hands placed on her hips. She was wearing a shapeless floral dress with bright violet colors. Her brown pea coat was clean, but a size too small. She couldn’t button it. A little black purse with a spaghetti strap dangled around her right shoulder.

  “I’m sorry.” I managed to say fleetingly as I was tugged away by Ali. She kept looking at us.

  “Hey! Stop!” she yelled. Ali turned. He looked her up and down and then his face froze.

  “Run,” Ali yelled. We took off and ran with full speed.

  “Hey come back here!” the woman barked. Her voice was deep and frightening, like a wolf howling in the night. We only stopped when we were a great distance away. We just looked at each other, our chests heaving in and out with rivulets of sweat dripping from our chins and foreheads.

  “Ali, who was that woman?” I asked between breaths. Ali collapsed to the ground, folding his legs underneath him.

  “Not sure, I think that it might have been our grandmother,” he said. I rested my hands on my knees, my heart was pounding and I was still struggling to catch my breath.

  “Who?” I managed to ask. Ali’s body seemed to have cooled down. His breaths were normal and he seemed relaxed. He looked up at the sun and then squinted. It was a cold sunny day. He spread his legs out, leaned back on his elbows, and just looked at me. It took him a long time to answer.

  “Who is she?” I asked impatiently.

  “You don’t know her, or maybe you were too young to remember her,” he said. I sat down next to him. I wanted to know more about this abuela person.

  “She’s a real bitch. I almost shit my pants when I saw her.” “She’s huge,” I said.

  “Yeah, that bitch is a real heavy weight. She could have knocked both of us out with one punch.”

  I was silent for a minute. I wanted to ask him a question, but I was kinda afraid to. I rested my hands on the grass and then began to pull out shards of it by the handfuls. Ali looked over at me; I suppose that he knew what
I wanted to ask him.

  “I don’t think that she would have been able to help us,” he said. My head shot up.

  “But she’s the only family we have now,” I said.

  “No! She ain’t family. We don’t know her. Besides, there’s a reason why mommy never spoke to her,” he said.

  “But mommy was crazy,” I said. His head snapped. He squinted and just glared at me.

  “Never say that shit again,” he hissed. He reached out and grabbed my arm.

  “Don’t ever tell anybody about mommy or about the fucking shadows. You keep that shit to yourself. You hear me?” he said squeezing my arm. I grimaced from the pain. I didn’t answer him right away and he squeezed tighter.

  “Do you hear me?” he repeated.

  “Yes,” I whimpered. He released my arm and I began to massage it with my right hand. I knew that the whole mommy topic was closed. But I still didn’t know what we were going to do. We were still two kids. Neither of us could work and we didn’t have any money, or even anything to sell to get money. How were we going to eat? Ali leaned back and tucked his hands behind his head. He seemed rather smitten for a boy who just watched his mother get arrested. His face looked calm, and I slowly gathered the courage to ask him another question.

  “Are we going to try and find daddy?” I asked gently.

  “Fuck him. He never did nothing for us. He ain’t even our real daddy anyway,” he said. My mouth opened wide from exasperation. I couldn’t believe it. Ali knew. All this time he knew, but he never said anything. I looked over at him and wondered what else he knew, about our family. My brother was not the talkative type, but I knew that he had a horde of secrets tucked away in his mind. Then I realized, he was the oldest, he had seen and experienced a hell of a lot more than me. I wanted to ask him more questions, but I didn’t want to irritate him. But I couldn’t help it.

  “Ali, what are we going to do? We don’t have any food or money,” I whined.

  “Man, do you ever stop? Your mouth is like a fucking motor. Just chill for two seconds so I can think about what we’re going to do,” he said.

  My mouth snapped shut. I looked down and angrily began to poke my fingers in the dry patches of the lawn.

  “Don’t catch no attitude with me. What? You think that I’m not sad that mommy’s in jail or that I’m not mad about how daddy treats us? You think that I’m not scared?” he said. I just stared at him in silence. I had never heard him talk like this before.

  “No, I don’t know what we’re going to do or where we are going to go. But anything is better than living in a fucking orphanage or with strange people who don’t give a fuck about us,” he spat. I blinked my eyes a couple of times. Yes, we needed to stay together. We needed to be a family. My heart opened up, and at the moment, I realized that my brother really did love me. I knew that he would rather burn in the pits of hell before he admitted that, but in my heart, I knew that it was true.

  “We’ll rest for a little bit and then we will get up and look for food,” he said while turning on his side. It was cold and food was just my first concern. What about shelter, school, clothes? What about protection, guidance and love? How would we ever get that? My heart felt heavy. I wanted to see the elderly woman again. I wanted to tell Ali about her, but he would get angry with me and call me crazy.

  I could feel someone hovering over me. Excitement began to surge through my veins and my eyes popped open. I gasped when I saw the elderly woman again. A chain with a black and white emblem was dangling from her neck. I had so many questions to ask her. Quickly, I sat up.

  “Where have you been?” I demanded. I was happy but still a little annoyed. She had made a promise to me that she would always be around, but when I needed her, I couldn’t find her.

  “Shoosh!” She said placing her hands to my lips.

  She pulled back my bedcovers and motioned for me to crawl out. I was in bed? I looked down and realized that I was dressed all in white. I placed one small foot on the cold wooden floor and looked around me. The room was tiny and old, with drafty windows. There was one single bed in the center of it. There was no light, but a halfdozen white candles were lit. I could hear the mosquitoes buzzing, the crickets chirping outside. Where was I? She led me to a door, opened it, and led me down a narrow staircase.

  The basement was cramped with people. They all looked over and smiled at us as we began to make our way down the stairs. They created a man-made path for us to walk down. I looked up and saw towering figures that I didn’t recognize. Who were these people? And what were they doing here? The women looked like adult size rag dolls. Their dresses were an assortment of drab colors and patterns, many of which looked faded from too much wear and wash. Their heads were wrapped with checkerboard pattern kerchiefs with aprons wrapped around their waste. Many of the men were shirtless with dungarees that were either stained or ripped at the knee. Some wore breeches with splinters of loose thread dangling from the cloth. Their feet were bare, with crinkly toes and heels that looked hard and chapped like sandpaper. The elderly woman took her place in the front of the room. I walked over and sat on the floor next to her. My dress was a little too short, and I timidly tried to pull it down as I struggled to find a decent sitting position.

  There were women walking around with trays filled with food. One woman dressed in an old fashion tunic and an African style headdress kneeled down to offer me one. I grabbed a vanilla covered pastry and bit into it; my taste buds tingled when I discovered the sweet tasting jelly that was hidden inside of it. There was a brief moment of silence. Three dark-skinned men entered the room. They were carrying oddly shaped instruments that looked like double neck drums.

  They sat in a small corner of the room, whispering and perhaps deciding on what tune to play first. They seemed to have all reached an agreement. Their hands began to dance across the drums as their heads bobbed up and down. They played songs that heightened the energy in the room. One man stood up and began to sing, his rich voice resonating a baritone base. All eyes were on him as he moved his feet from side to side and shook his hands like he was playing an invisible pair of maracas.

  After his song was finished, a woman took the stage. She had to be the oldest person in the room. People began to settle down as they hovered in closer to listen to her. I stole a peak at the elderly woman. She read my expression and leaned over and whispered to me.

  “Just sit and listen,” she said.

  I watched the woman as she began to speak. She had to be over seventy years old. I could tell that her teeth needed a great deal of work. Her tongue hissed, as it slithered across missing caps and crowns.

  “There are no records, only stories about the secret of our survival. There was one world, off in a great and distant land, a land that was balanced and filled with abundance where no man, woman, or child suffered. Until one day a brujo name Olosi come along, practicing witchcraft called brujeria. He tempted man, making them promises that he couldn’t keep, entrapping their souls and enslaving their spirits, throwing the forces of nature off balance. One day, all the forces got together and banished Olosi from Earth, shooting him with arrows of flames. Olosi screamed as he ran, finding refuge in the underworld, where he lived in isolation.

  “But it would not be long before Olosi would rise again, instilling greed, and pitting man against man. Thousands of men, women and children were captured and sent to be slaves in the New World. It was in this world that Olosi could work his magic, tempting man to follow him and practice his ways. It was a world that was filled with desires and richness that turned noble men bad. Millions were dying, from disease, starvation, and mere depression. Olosi’s presence was too strong. And the Natives of the land and the black slaves were not able to stop him.

  “Ex-priests from Africa understood that they needed to work together in order to survive. To do this, they needed to preserve their culture, religion and traditions. They understood that faith was the only way to give them spiritual and moral strength. At that tim
e, a secret society was formed. Olosi, as cunning and ugly as he was understood the power of unity and oneness. He used sorcery to plant another seed in the Spaniards’ heads. Anyone known to be in secret societies was persecuted, whipped without mercy and even hanged. Olosi sat back and laughed as he watched whole villages burn down, crops being destroyed and woman being raped.

  “The priests in these secret societies continued to have meetings, away from the barracks and often in the middle of the night. More slaves, free black men and natives joined. One of them was able to sing the infectious tune of Changó, a deity who represented the force of fire. Another priest waved his machete in the air and beckoned Oggún, the tireless and fearless warrior. Changó and Oggún are rivals, but their contrasting energy worked to create insurgencies all throughout the Caribbean. The Spanish were afraid. They had paid a great deal of money for their slaves, and realized that if they died or were murdered, they would lose out on their investments.

  “The strife continued. Many of the priest realized that war would wipe both the black and native populations out. So they worked together again to bring another deity, Obatalá. He is the father of all Orisha, the creator of the human body. He is the natural force of fresh air, and he was called to bring peace. The Spaniards began to realize that slaves worked better when clothed, fed, and lived in proper working conditions.

  “Then something really great happened. The woman deities were called and so the real forces of creation began. Yemayá, the mother of fertility and the overseer of saltwater were summoned, along with Oshún, the mistress of romance and seduction who resides in our rivers. The help of these deities allowed woman to seduce their masters. Mixed children were born, singing the tunes of the sacred Orishas. But there was still something missing. The priests worked diligently and some even got discouraged, because no one knew how to properly summon Orúnmila. He was the deity of divination and would be able to determine their fate.