Moonlight Lady

by Barbara Faith

Voodoo? Lisa had almost forgotten. “But I can’t go,” she said, remembering Sam’s admonition not to leave the house. She wouldn’t, anyway; she had to wait for him.

  “I be goin’ and it best you come with me. Don’t do you no good waiting alone here. If your mister and Horatio haven’t come by now they probably won’t be back till mornin’. You better come to voodoo with me.”

  “But I have to wait for Sam.”

  “Won’t do you no good to be sittin’ here by your sad lonesome.”

  Lisa hesitated. Sam had told her not to leave. Whoever had cut the motorcycle tire might still be here in Trinity. The thought of that—of being alone in the house, knowing Benjamin might be out there somewhere in the darkness—spooked her. She’d rather be in a crowd with Delight than alone.

  “All right,” she said. “I’ll go with you.”

  “Good!” Delight looked at Lisa’s cutoffs. “Folk’s goin’ to be looking at you if you go like that. I got a skirt that maybe fit you.”

  She went into the bedroom and rummaged through the clutter of clothes on the shelves there. Finally she pulled out a blue-and-white-flowered skirt. “Try this on,” she said. “It’ll fit.”

  Lisa took off her cutoffs and hung them over the bed. Something fell out of the pocket and rolled across the floor. She bent to retrieve it and saw it was the small smooth stone Rebecca had given her to keep the duppies away. She picked it up, held it in her hand for a moment, and when she put the skirt on, put the stone in the pocket.

  “It be time,” Delight said.

  “Maybe I should leave a note for Sam, just to let him know where we are. If he and Horatio return, they can meet us there.”

  “They won’t be returning.” Delight turned away so that Lisa couldn’t see her face. “Leastways not tonight.”

  Lisa stared at the other woman. Delight’s shoulders slumped; her whole body seemed dejected. Before Lisa could say anything, she sighed and said, “Come along. It’s time we go.”

  Lisa followed her out of the room, but at the top of the steps she hesitated. The drums sounded louder than before—jungle drums repeating the same rhythm, over and over. Tum tum tum, tum tum tum. They were primitive, hypnotic.

  Suddenly she wasn’t sure she was doing the right thing. She was in a strange country, in unknown territory. She’d never seen voodoo before. She’d be the only white woman there. Would these people object to her being witness to this ancient religious rite?

  Delight hurried down the steps. “It goin’ to be startin’,” she said.

  Lisa had no choice, unless she wanted to stay alone in the house.

  They walked to the edge of town. There were no lights in the windows of the other houses, no signs of life. Everyone had gone to the voodoo ceremony.

  The sound of the drums grew louder, and finally through the trees and underbrush, Lisa saw a glimmer of light. Delight took her arm to hurry her along.

  Dozens of lanterns and candles reflected on the faces of the people who had gathered and were sitting on the ground in a wide circle. Delight led her into the circle and they sat cross-legged. Only the people next to them looked curiously at Lisa. The others were intent on the empty space in the center of the circle. A few of them had soft drinks, others had glasses, whether filled with rum or water or a soft drink, Lisa didn’t know.

  Out of the darkness a young woman appeared. A white robe covered her from neck to feet; a white turban hid her hair. She walked barefoot to the center of the ring, then spun around and placed a lighted candle on the ground.

  A man entered. He, too, was clad in a white robe.

  “That be the voodoo priest,” Delight whispered.

  He carried a clay jar, and using something that looked like sand, began to spread it on the ground in a design.

  “This be the symbol of the spirits that be coming,” Delight said. “Now he be goin’ to pour water on the four places the spirits goin’ to enter.”

  The spirits? Goose bumps rose on Lisa’s arm.

  The drums stopped. There was a breathless moment of silent expectation. The voodoo priest led three women into the circle. A man began to shake a rattle, while another recited words in a language Lisa didn’t understand.

  The drums began again—first the smallest, then the second, louder, faster, and finally a booming explosion of sound as the third and biggest drum joined in.

  The women in the circle began to move their shoulders and their arms, then their feet. They swayed to a curious rhythm, faster and yet faster, on and on to the hypnotic beat of the drums. Suddenly one of the women stopped. When she moved again her body jerked with every beat of the drums. As though propelled by an invisible force, she began to spin. She hurtled about, stumbling, falling, rising again, thrashing wildly with her arms. She raced around the circle in a terrible frenzy. Suddenly she stopped and snatched a glass out of someone’s hand. She threw the liquid out and bit into it. As Lisa watched, the woman chewed and swallowed bits of glass.

  She danced on, danced until a man brought her a live, squawking chicken. She grabbed the bird by its neck and whirled it around and around until she had twisted its head off. She lifted the headless and still-flapping bird above her head and drank its blood.

  “Oh my God!” Lisa said under her breath.

  Now the other two women began to dance. A man ran into the ring holding a torch over his head. He swung it round and round, then touched it to a pile of dried grass and twigs and pieces of wood. One of the women knelt before the fire, then began to whirl and spin over it, into it. She grabbed a burning branch from the flames and licked it.

  Lisa turned away. She couldn’t watch anymore. She wished she hadn’t come; she wanted to leave.

  “I’m not feeling very well,” she said to Delight. But Delight didn’t hear her. She was watching the dancers with glazed eyes. Lisa put a hand on her arm. “Delight?” she said.

  But the woman didn’t answer, only stared, mesmerized, in a trance.

  Lisa looked at the people around her. They, too, were transfixed. Some had their eyes closed while they swayed to the heated rhythm of the drums. She was an alien, a stranger out of place and time. She had to leave, had to get out before she, too, was caught up in the dance and the dancers who hurled themselves around the circle, jumping over the fire, into the fire, their eyes rolled back, strange guttural cries coming from their throats.

  She tried again to speak to Delight, but it did no good. The Jamaican woman was in another world, at one with those who watched, with the three women who danced, with the voodoo priest.

  Should she leave? Go back to the empty house and wait for Sam? Or should she stay here and wait until this was over? No, she had to leave.

  Lisa started to push herself up, and as she did, she turned a little to the right. And saw him. The leaping flames of the fire were reflected in the narrow eyes, shone on the jagged scar. For a moment she couldn’t breathe. It was as if, like the others, she, too, was frozen some where in time.

  But Benjamin wasn’t. He was here, looking at her, showing his white teeth in a broad and terrible grin. The stone in her pocket hadn’t kept the duppies away, after all.

  He slowly rose and started toward her.

  She jumped up and, frantic with haste, tried to step around those seated cross-legged behind her. She put her hands on strange shoulders, murmuring, “Excuse me, excuse me.” It didn’t matter; they were too entranced by the ceremony to hear or to help. She climbed over a prostrate woman. A man in the grip of the spirits that had claimed his body reached out for her. She ducked under his arms and kept going until she reached the outside of the circle. She looked over her shoulder and saw Benjamin striding toward her.

  She ran, not toward town but toward the trees, into darkness.

  “Come back, nice lady.” The sound of his voice, laughing at her, was close, so close.

  Terrified, heart thudding against her breast, Lisa ran into the woods. Branches tore at her hair and slapped into her face. It didn’t matter. She had
to get away.

  A thin beam of light cut through the darkness. A dark object loomed in front of her. She screamed, and the sound she made cut like a sword through the night.

  “Lisa? Lisa, is that you?”

  Sam! She stumbled through the darkness toward the motorcycle.

  “Missus?” Horatio asked. “That be you, missus?”

  She looked up at him, past him to Sam astride the Harley. “He’s here!” she cried. “Benjamin is here!”

  “Get on!” Sam reached out for her and pulled her up behind him. “I’ll be back,” he said to Horatio. Then he gunned the motor and shot back into the darkness of the forest.

  Chapter 14

  Gunfire ripped through the night. A bullet snapped off the branch above Sam’s head, but he didn’t stop. He had to get Lisa out of the line of fire.

  He switched off the light on the motorcycle and tried to see through the dark forest. Lisa clung to him, face pressed against his back. Another shot rang out behind them.

  “Horatio?” he called out. “Horatio?” When there was no answer, he stopped and jumped off the bike. “Stay here!” He shoved a gun into Lisa’s hand. “There’s no safety. All you have to do is pull the trigger.”

  “My God, Sam...”

  “I’ve got to see if Horatio’s okay. Stay down out of sight.”

  “Sam, wait...” But he’d already turned and was running through the trees. She slid off the back of the Harley. The gun felt cold and hard in her hand. Was Benjamin still out there? Somewhere in the forest? She closed her hands around the gun.

  The drums had stopped. It was quiet now. Too quiet. Where was Sam? Had Horatio been shot? What was...?

  A branch snapped. “Sam?” she whispered. “Sam, is that you?”

  “Why, no pretty lady. It be me.”

  She whirled around, looking right and left, trying to see through the darkness.

  The snap of another branch. Closer. The crackle of leaves. She couldn’t see. She squeezed her eyes shut, and when she opened them she could make out the shape of the trees, huge and mysterious in the dark of the night. Fear choked her and she hunched down, her back against a tree.

  Above her, clouds scudded across the night sky. As she watched, the moon slid out from the cover of the clouds and shone down through the trees like a pale yellow beacon.

  “Pretty lady?” She heard a chuckle, low, insidious, more frightful than a shouted cry. “Pretty lady?”

  Lisa froze. She couldn’t breathe, couldn’t move. Her gaze darted right, left.

  “Peek-a-boo, I see you.” The singsong voice was taunting her. “Peek-a-boo.”

  He stepped out of the bushes and came toward her, white teeth shining in a broad smile.

  “Big dude fella leave you all alone? Now ain’t that too bad? Just you and me and the motorcycle, and we be gone ‘fore he come back. We be going to have us a fine time ‘fore I take you down to Port Antonio. Maybe my boss want to kill you, but I goin’ to say, ‘No, no she come with us. Keep us happy all the way to South America.’”

  Lisa shoved herself away from the tree. “Don’t come any closer,” she whispered.

  “‘Course, we goin’ to have to dump you overboard soon’s we get there. But I sure goin’ to enjoy you ‘fore we do.”

  The gun wasn’t cold now, it was hot and wet with sweat from her palms. She gripped it in both hands.

  “Lord-a-mercy,” he said, mocking her. “The little lady has a gun. You goin’ to shoot me, pretty lady?”

  Her hands were shaking so badly it was all she could do to hang on to the gun. So was her voice when she said “I’m—I’m warning you.”

  “Sure you are.” The words were spoken in a deceptively soft voice. “Sure you...” He leapt at her, arm outstretched, hand reaching for the gun, so close she could smell the rum on his breath.

  She closed her eyes and squeezed the trigger. He stopped, stood where he was, his eyes as white as gravestones in the light of the moon. His fingers curled. He took a staggering step forward and reached for her throat.

  She fired again, heard the whomp of the bullet hitting his body, watched him slowly fold and fall.

  The gun slipped out of her hand. She slumped back against the tree.

  “Lisa! Lisa, where are you?”

  “Here.” The word was no more than a whisper. “Here.”

  Sam crashed through the trees. “I heard a shot. What happened? Are you...” He saw Benjamin facedown among the fallen leaves and ferns. He bent down, shone his flashlight on the prone body, felt for the carotid pulse. “He’s alive. Are you all right?”

  “I—I never sh-shot anybody before.”

  “Where’s the gun?”

  “I dropped it.”

  He shone the flashlight on the ground, found the gun, pocketed it. “Horatio’s hit. I’ve got to get him.”

  “But what about...” She pointed. “What about Benjamin?”

  “We’ll have to leave him here. I’ll come back for him as soon as I take care of Horatio.” He bent down and went through the fallen man’s pockets, found a gun and shoved it into the top of his boot. “Sure you’re all right?” he asked Lisa.

  No, she wasn’t all right. She was trembling inside, sick to her stomach. She’d shot a man, maybe killed him. How was she supposed to feel?

  Sam didn’t wait for her reply; he grabbed the bike and hurried back the way he’d come. Lisa followed. They found Horatio sitting with his back against a tree, holding a hand over the bandanna tied around his thigh.

  “We’re going to get you home.” Sam motioned for Lisa to take the Harley, and when she did, he leaned down to pick Horatio up.

  “You can’t be carrying me,” the man protested. “I be too heavy.”

  “You be too skinny.” Sam hefted the man over his shoulder. To Lisa he said, “Stay right behind us.”

  Still in a state of shock, she did as she was told and awkwardly wheeled the Harley after Sam and Horatio. She’d shot a man. Not only that, she’d left him lying there. Sam had said he’d go back after him, but that might be too late. Benjamin might be dead by then. And she would have killed him.

  They came out of the trees into the village. A few lights pricked the darkness, but no one was about. Everything was quiet now after the voodoo ceremony. When they reached Horatio’s, Lisa propped the motorcycle against the steps and Sam carried Horatio into the house. Delight had been sitting in one of the straight-backed chairs, but she jumped to her feet when she saw them.

  “Horatio!” she cried. “What happen?”

  “He’s been shot.” Sam carried the other man into the bedroom and laid him on the bed. “I’m going to need a light,” he told Delight.

  But she stood there without moving, wringing her hands, saying, “Oh, Lord. Oh, Lord,” over and over again.

  “I’ll get it,” Lisa said.

  She brought the lantern. Sam told her to hold it up so that he could see the wound. “Delight, get me a knife,” he said. “I’ve got to cut his trousers.” And when she still didn’t move, he raised his voice. “Dammit, woman, get me a knife!”

  Her eyes widened. She stood stock-still for a moment, then turned and ran out of the room. When she came back, she handed Sam the knife. “I put water to boil,” she said.

  “Good.” To Lisa, he said, “Hold the lantern higher, please.”

  He cut into Horatio’s pants. The bullet had entered the skin at an angle. He didn’t think it had touched the bone, but it had to come out.

  “I’ll need some clean cloths,” he said. “If you don’t have them, tear up a sheet. Lisa, there’s adhesive tape and a pair of scissors in the first-aid kit. And the antiseptic cream. Delight, bring me the water as soon as it boils. I’ll need a bottle of alcohol, too.”

  “You goin’ to take the bullet out?” Horatio asked.

  Sam nodded.

  “How ‘bout a drink of rum ‘fore you do it?”

  “For you or for me?”

  Horatio managed a laugh. “I be guessin’ fo
r both of us. You ever taken a bullet out before?”

  “No, but once a year I take a brush-up course in first aid.” Sam hesitated. “I can go to Maroon Town in the morning and try to find a doctor if you want to wait.”

  Horatio shook his head. “Don’t even know if they got a doctor there. Better you do it. Just give me a swig of rum and I’ll be fine.”

  Delight came back with a pan of boiling water. Sam put the knife and the scissors in it. Delight brought the rum and Sam handed the bottle to Horatio before he went out to the kitchen to scrub his hands and arms. When he came back to the bedroom he said to Lisa, “Your turn to wash up. I’ll need you to help me.”

  She didn’t think she could, but Sam wasn’t giving her time to think. She handed the lantern to Delight and went into the kitchen and washed her hands. When she came back, Sam said, “Okay, here we go.”

  He sponged the blood away and cleaned the wound with alcohol. He said, “Hang on, Horatio. I’m starting.”

  Horatio tilted the bottle up. “Go ‘head, mon,” he said. “Do it quick as you can.”

  Sam made a one-inch incision. Above his head the lantern wobbled. “Easy, Delight,” he cautioned. “Take it easy.”

  He probed for the bullet. Horatio hissed with pain, but didn’t move. The knife touched metal. “Hold the skin apart with your fingers,” Sam said to Lisa. And when she did, he went in, using the tip of the knife, and slowly brought the bullet out.

  “Get a cloth,” he said. “Sponge the blood away.”

  She moved like an automaton, holding herself together, doing what had to be done. When it was over, Sam said, “Hand me the tape.”

  He cut small strips and crisscrossed them over the wound, then put a folded patch of cloth over the tape. “Hold it,” He said to Lisa, and put adhesive on to keep it in place. “All done,” he told Horatio.

  But Horatio, the bottle of rum still clutched in his hand, had lost consciousness. Sam wet a piece of cloth with alcohol and held it under Horatio’s nose. The man sputtered and opened his eyes.

  “All finished.” Sam took the bottle and drank from it. “Get some rest now. Lisa and Delight will be here if you want anything.”