“Emaline,” the girl said with a smile. “And I’ve seen worse.”
“We go to school together,” Chloe explained. She glanced in the rearview mirror at her friend. “Lucy just moved here. She’ll be going to St. Expedite’s with us come August.”
“Have you seen the uniforms yet?” Emaline asked me. “Hideous.” She gave a mock shudder.
I shrugged, not bothering to correct Chloe. “At my school back home, we had to wear ties.” If I had anything to say about it, I’d be wearing those ties again come fall.
“Where’s back home?” Emaline asked.
“Chicago.” But when I said the word, Chicago suddenly felt very, very far away.
The ritual that Chloe took me to was held on the Bayou St. John, one of the many inland tributaries sprouting off Lake Pontchartrain. When we finally arrived, people dressed in white were already gathering at the large steel bridge that crossed the bayou at one of its narrowest points. They looked like initiates preparing for some sort of old-time religious revival.
We walked along the bayou toward the growing crowd. “Do all of these people practice Voodoo?” I asked.
Emaline snorted. “Not likely, unless half the lacrosse team’s taken it up.” She pointed over to a group of guys gathered on the outskirts of the crowd. They were dressed in white, like the rest, but each had a bottle of a sports drink that was mostly likely spiked with something. “Speaking of which … I think I’m gonna go say hello, if you don’t mind?” She never took her eyes off the guys. “I’ll meet you in a bit, okay?”
“Sure,” Chloe said, shooting me a look that said Emaline was probably over her head with that group. Emaline didn’t seem to notice, though. Without much of a backward glance, she took off toward the guys.
“She seems nice,” I said once she left.
Chloe shrugged. “We’ve gone to school together since forever. When she found out I was planning to come, she kind of invited herself along.”
“Well, thanks for inviting me too.”
“No problem.” She smiled. “Come on, we want to get up front so we can see everything.”
Chloe pushed her way through the crush of bodies until we finally made it to the mouth of the bridge. “The priestess is going to come from over there and cross the bridge. Then she’ll do the invocation to the spirits and invite the rest of us across.”
On the bridge, someone had already set up a small altar made from a variety of boxes stacked in a pyramid shape and covered with a vibrant aquamarine cloth. Burning candles covered almost every inch of it. Most of the candles were white, but a couple of others had already splattered their bloodred wax on the field of blue.
Chloe must have seen me studying them. “The white is for purity and protection, but the red’s for power.”
Drums started somewhere in the distance, and their driving cadence sent a shiver of recognition through me. As the drums grew louder and more distinct, I realized the people approaching the bridge from the far end of the bayou weren’t walking, but dancing toward us. As they came closer, a movement at the far edge of the water caught my attention. Before I could figure out what I was seeing, a flame erupted that made me jump.
“They light the bonfires to guide the way for the priestess,” Chloe whispered.
Sure enough, as the drumming grew louder and the group grew closer, more fires sprang to life on the bank of the bayou. One at a time, they ignited, each one closer than the last, until the drumming was loud enough to vibrate in my chest and the group of dancers came to a halt on the far side of the bridge. They parted then, and a woman came forward dressed in an elaborate white turban and long, flowing skirts—Mama Legba.
She raised her arms and sang out to the skies above in a rich, warm song. I couldn’t tell what she was saying, but her voice rolled over the crowd. Everyone behind us stilled as someone in the procession draped a large snake over her arms.
I heard myself gasp as my vision blurred. For a moment, Mama Legba’s lithe dancing became Thisbe’s. Her graceful rhythm was replaced by Thisbe’s more erratic and disjointed movements. But then, almost as quickly as the vision came, it dissipated, leaving me shaken.
“Don’t worry, Lucy,” Chloe told me, misunderstanding my reaction to the vision. “She’s not doing anything evil. In Voodoo, snakes represent one of the most powerful of the spirits—Damballah.”
I didn’t correct her mistaken impression, just turned back to watch Mama Legba, who had left her entourage behind her and begun to dance toward us. With writhing, rhythmic motions, she twisted her body in a sensual imitation of a snake as she approached the middle of the bridge. It was reminiscent of Thisbe’s dance, but Mama Legba’s face had none of the angst or desperation that had been on Thisbe’s.
“When she reaches the middle of the bridge, she’ll do an invocation to St. John the Baptist and any other spirits that are around,” Chloe told me, pointing to the altar. “The snake will go there, as an offering.”
“She’s going to kill it?” I couldn’t keep the horror out of my voice.
Chloe shot me a dirty look. “Of course not. It’s just going to stay there so it doesn’t get trampled on. Seriously, Lucy, you’ve watched way too many horror flicks.”
“But you said ‘offering.’”
“Yeah, offering. Not sacrifice.” She shook her head, irritated. “Honestly. We’re celebrating the birth of the man that baptized Christ, not Beelzebub. Just watch.”
Mama Legba danced her way across the bridge until she stood in front of the altar. Slowly, she lifted the snake from her shoulders and held it high as she knelt before the candles. She called out again, her voice soaring over the stillness of the bayou, and then set the snake into a depression in the altar that I hadn’t noticed. After she covered it up, she stood and faced us.
Her voice rose again, clearly articulating strange syllables in a language I didn’t understand.
“Anonse o zanj nan dlo,” she cried, her voice rising and falling melodically like a blues singer, and then she raised her hands to us. The crowd answered her back.
“Anonse o zanj nan dlo.”
“Ya dosou miwa, yawe yawe,” she called, her voice growing stronger.
“Ya dosou miwa, yawe yawe,” the crowd replied, Chloe’s voice loud among them. They repeated this verbal dance, back and forth, with more of the observers on our side joining into the chant each time Mama Legba raised her arms.
“Kreyol mande chanjman! ” She shouted the change suddenly, and the drums began again. She raised her hands and the crowd gave her back her chant. Then she began a new dance.
It wasn’t the sensual writhing of a snake this time, but a joyful celebration. The people who had followed her onto the bridge started dancing again as well, moving across the bridge to where Mama Legba waited. She raised her arms again to those on our side of the bridge, where most people were already moving in time to the pulsing drums. At her signal, they started moving forward.
“This is the best part,” Chloe shouted. She smiled at me and raised her own arms in the dance. “Come on, Yankee girl, let the spirit move that skinny white behind of yours.”
I laughed and started to bounce in time to the music. I started out self-consciously, moving only enough to not stand out, but Chloe’s enthusiasm and the rhythm of the drums pulled me in. Soon I was in the center of the bridge, my arms in the air and my body moving freely to the rhythm of the drummers. Occasionally, I’d catch Chloe’s bright smile, and then we would separate again and mix in with the other bodies on the bridge. At one point we found Emaline again, and in the sultry heat of twilight we all danced on like we were at some impromptu bayou rave over the murky water. Dark arms tangled with light ones, and the drummers became part of the dancers as the rhythmic sway of the crowd swirled around the small area.
We danced faster then, spinning alone and together, and the air was filled with laughter to complement the driving beats of the ever-present drumming. It became its own music in the waning light, punctuated
by ecstatic shouts that echoed in the sticky night air, reverberating like a remembrance of something already past.
It was easy to dance, to give my body over to the rhythm that was unavoidable and to a freedom that seemed to snake through the air and touch us all. I’ve never thought of myself as a particularly graceful or talented dancer, but as the urgency of the beats increased, I felt a freedom in my body I hadn’t known existed there before.
The light grew more golden as the sun inched toward the horizon, and the frenzy of the drumming increased until the drums were singing so rapidly that the individual beats were indecipherable and the sound became a thrumming roll. Chloe, Emaline, and I were spinning together, laughing, when a high-pitched drum broke the mood with rapid, gunfire-like beats. The crowd slowly quieted.
Above the lingering buzz, Mama Legba’s voice called out, again and again, “Nou tout se zanj O! ” The tones of her voice undulated, like ripples on the surface of the river. Finally the crowd was silent, listening to her repeat the call until the sound of the words became a rich chorale, a blessing for the crowd. She was standing at the edge of the bridge, her hands extended over the water.
“What’s she saying?” I asked Chloe as I caught my breath.
“It’s the final invocation,” she told me. “She’s telling the spirits that we are all angels.”
“Angels?”
“We’re all spirits, Lucy. In Voodoo, angel is just another name for spirit. For life.” She pointed to the horizon. “Look there—the sun’s almost gone.”
Mama Legba continued her invocation until the remaining sliver of fire sank below the horizon, and then she went silent. She made her way to the middle of the bridge, the crowd parting silently as she came. “We celebrate tonight the great spirits who will bring us a long growing season and an ample harvest.”
The drums punctuated her words with a single beat.
“We celebrate another year, another chance to perfect our souls.” Another beat sounded.
“We ask the Loa to intercede on our behalf. To guide us on our earthly journey until we can return to the Great Beginning.” The drums rolled then, a low rumble like thunder in the distance.
“Something’s coming, my children,” she called. “Something that has been waiting for a long while to walk among us again. We ask the great spirits to guide us. To protect us in the days ahead.” A final beat sounded, and she dropped her arms. The silence over the bayou hung heavy as the night sky, and we waited for what would come next.
“And now,” she said in quieter tones, a broad smile crossing her face. “Now, we eat.”
The drums started again, but their song was less frenzied and more like a conversation. People mingled on the bridge, some placing their own small offerings on the altar, others dancing again with old and new friends. We made our way across the bridge to where a banquet was being set up between two of the small bonfires.
“Come on,” Chloe said, pulling us through the crowd. “The food’s almost better than the ritual itself. We need to get some before it’s gone.”
We piled our plates high. Chloe pointed to the different dishes and explained what they were. It was a mix of old world and new, African and Creole, the Caribbean and the Bayou, all mouthwatering and fragrant. The headiness of garlic mixed with smoky cumin and fragrant cinnamon and cloves. The intensity of the scents—the savory mixed with sweet, the sharp bite of chili cut with the earthiness of rice and plantains—was so thick in the air, I could practically taste it on my tongue.
We ate in the light of the fire and watched the crowd gradually grow. Occasionally, the rhythm of the drums would change or someone would start another bluesy call-and-response round.
“Thanks for bringing me to this, Chloe,” I said.
“You like?”
“I definitely like.” I grinned. “I have to say, though, all your talk about rituals had me nervous about what I should expect.”
“She told you it was a ritual?” Emaline asked, licking one finger daintily. “Seriously?” She rolled her eyes at Chloe.
“It is a ritual,” Chloe said, sulking a bit. “Mama Legba isn’t doing this for her health.”
“Yeah, whatever,” Em said, bumping Chloe gently with her shoulder. “Hey, I’m gonna go grab some more food.” She glanced over her shoulder to where the tables were still heaped with half-full plates and where a couple of guys from earlier were standing, picking at the mound of crawfish. “I might be a while,” she said, grinning back at us.
“Have fun,” Chloe called in a voice that made it very clear she knew Emaline was after more than just a second serving. Em rolled her eyes but couldn’t quite keep the grin off her face as she flounced away toward the food and the guys.
Once she knew Emaline was out of earshot, Chloe asked, “So really, what’s with the dark circles under your eyes? You kind of look like crap.”
I blinked at her bluntness.
“Seriously,” she said when I didn’t respond. “What’s going on?”
I hesitated, wondering how much I should say. “I didn’t get much sleep last night,” I told her, settling on the easiest explanation. I took another sip of my drink so I wouldn’t have to meet her eyes, but I could feel her questions hanging in the air just the same.
“Still having weird dreams?” she asked when it was clear I wasn’t going to say anything more.
I could feel my face growing warm. “Lately they’ve been …
different.”
“That right?” Chloe asked after a moment, and I knew from her tone that she understood there was more I wasn’t saying.
But I only nodded and kept my eyes on what remained of my food. I didn’t want to think about the intensity of the dreams I was having about Armantine and Alex. I definitely didn’t want to talk about my wild thoughts about who or what Alex was, or to admit—even to myself—that no matter what he might be, my stupid heart raced every single time I thought about him.
But before she could press me further, a shadow passed over us, and we looked up to find Mama Legba herself standing above us. I didn’t know how much she’d heard or seen, but her face was solemn, almost stony in the firelight.
“Chloe-girl, you give the spirits your offering yet?” she asked. She didn’t stop looking at me even as she talked to Chloe. The intensity of her gaze unnerved me, so I glanced over to Chloe for an explanation.
Chloe didn’t notice my unease, though. She was looking between me and Mama Legba, like she was trying to figure out how she’d been so easily unseated in the old woman’s favor. “Not yet Mama,” she answered with determined cheerfulness. “But I’m going to soon.”
“What you waiting for? An invitation? Go on,” Mama Legba said, finally glancing at Chloe. “Lucy and me, we gonna talk for a bit.”
As Chloe stood and started toward the makeshift altar on the bridge, Mama Legba gave a quick jerk of her head, indicating I should follow, before walking off toward the darkened park. I scrambled to my feet, impressed by how quickly she moved.
I started to thank her for inviting me to the festival, but she silenced me with a look. “Walk on a little bit with me, Lucy-girl.”
St. John’s Bayou was a mostly residential area lined with apartments and houses, but the side we were on was a long, park-like stretch of land not lit by streetlamps or by bonfires.
“This bayou is an important place for believers.” Mama Legba’s voice came out of the darkness beside me. “Marie Laveau started comin’ here with her followers ’round about the time this place became a state. Back then, it was just a bunch of wildness with some people trying to tame it.” When we were a good distance away from the other revelers, she stopped and turned to me. “Course, Marie had a gift. Some people said it was the sight. Other people, they think she just knew what to look for. You know what I mean.”
I didn’t, but also didn’t want to interrupt.
“Now, some say Marie weren’t nothing more than a good
showman. Legend goes ’round these
parts a real conjure woman lived upriver a ways. Lots of legends about those places, though. You put that much pain and suffering in the land, and a place can’t hardly get clean of it.
“Now, Chloe-girl, she tell me you been having some dreams.” Mama Legba’s voice was steady and not a muscle on her face gave away what she was thinking, or what her intent was in asking the question. “Like I told you, dreams are tricky things,” she continued before I could respond. “But I ’spect you know that well enough, don’t you?”
“Yeah.” I looked out at the dark bayou beyond. She hadn’t asked me what my dreams were about, and now that we were alone, I couldn’t find the words to tell her. “If I just knew why I keep having them. Or … ”
I thought about Alex, about the tree and the girl in the picture. About the idea that maybe my dreams were true. But now that the moment had come, I didn’t know how to explain any of it without sounding completely insane.
“If I just knew what they meant,” I said instead.
“Well see, Lucy-girl, that’s the thing. I told you it’s near impossible to know when it comes to dreaming, didn’t I? Sometimes we dream the past. Sometimes we dream our futures. Sometimes we dream our deepest desires.” She grasped my upper arms and leaned down a bit so her face was close to mine. “But sometimes dreams are dangerous.”
“I’m starting to understand that,” I whispered, thinking of Alex and the temptation in his smile, and of the suffocating pull of cold, dark water. I wondered which I should worry about more.
“The problem with dreams, child, is they let us free from our earthly bindings. That can be tremendously powerful, but power is always a slippery thing—the second you try to hold onto it, you find it holdin’ onto you. You get too caught up in dreams, you might never be finding your way back.”
“But how do I know what’s real and what’s just a dream?” I whispered.
“You get to the point that you start asking that question, Lucy-girl, and you already going down a dangerous path.” She paused, giving my arms a comforting squeeze. “You be careful, hear me? I know you staying out there at the old Dutilette place, and Chloe say you be digging into Thisbe’s place too. You just be careful and remember that not all the spirits in this world are good ones. You stir up the wrong ones and you be in a world of hurt.” She dropped her arms and, without another word, turned and started walking back.
Sweet Unrest Page 10