The Exorsistah

by Claudia Mair Burney

  And I do. Then I unfreeze and scream until my mother comes into the room pleading the blood of Jesus to protect me with its mighty covering.

  Francis put his hand lightly on my forearm. “Come back, Emme.” His voice draws me to the present.

  Heck-e-naw.

  Francis’s hands cupped my elbows, stroking them with the pads of his thumbs, back and forth. His voice like honey now, so sweet and easy going down I could almost taste it. “Why don’t I show you where you can rest? Huh?”

  “No!”

  “Emme,” he says, slowly. “You need some sleep.”

  It took a few moments for my breathing to steady. His gentle touch moved up my arms, but amazingly, I didn’t feel invaded like I did with Ray. My inside alarms didn’t go off.

  He moved in a little closer.

  Man, I was feelin’ him.

  “Chiara,” he whispered.

  “I don’t know what that means.”

  “It means bright. Shining. Nothing like the darker the cherry the sweeter the juice. Okay?”

  I didn’t know why I trusted him, but I did.

  “I’m tired.”

  “You’re home, now.”

  “I don’t have a home.”

  “You do now. Come on.” He offered me his hands and I took them without resisting. Fatigue threatened to sink me into the ground.

  “I can’t work with demons.” I knew I sounded like a pouty little girl, but I couldn’t help it. “Don’t try to force me.”

  “I won’t.”

  “You promise you ain’t gon’ make me do nothin’ I don’t want to do?”

  And I did mean nothing.

  “I promise.” In his sad eyes I saw he was telling the truth.

  With that he led me to his room, which Mother Nicole had prepared for me. I climbed onto his bed and fell into a blessed sleep almost as soon as my head hit the pillow.

  My eyes fluttered open.

  I didn’t know where I was at first. I woke up bleary-eyed in an unfamiliar room, a sweet, musky-scented cologne surrounding me. Oh yeah … now I remember. Whatever aftershave Francis wore lingered on his pillow. It was like rich earth, with a hint of vetiver, and something spicy and warm. I put it over my face and inhaled.

  Why does he live with a priest and a nun?

  Maybe his mama or daddy was close to them. But he said his mama didn’t want him to be Catholic. She probably wouldn’t have wanted him living in a parish house with a priest.

  I fluffed the pillow and put my head back on it, rolled to my side and tucked my hands under my cheek.

  I could see a crucifix on the wall across from me. Statues of saints and pretty, holy looking pictures covered his walls. He had all kinds of candles and stuff. Like his room was a shrine. It was what I imagined a monk’s room would look like.

  I eased myself up from his twin-size bed to explore his room. I opened the top drawer of his dresser, being nosy. He was a boxer man. I peeked in the closet. Judging by the color of his gear, he thought he was a monk.

  In the corner stood a tall, wooden bookcase, its shelves overflowing. The selection of Bibles alone was impressive: the King James Version. The New Revised Standard Version, The Message. Today’s New International Version.

  Brotha had a Renovare Study Bible, a Catholic Devotional Bible, an Orthodox Study Bible, a Jerusalem Bible, and a Thompson Chain Reference.

  He had all kinds of study helps to go with his Bible collection. He wasn’t playin’ around!

  He also had books about exorcism: Hostage to the Devil. The Vatican’s Exorcist. An Exorcist Tells His Story. All kinds of freaky-deaky titles.

  What had I gotten myself into? He was cute and everything, but not enough for me to want to be dealing with demons all the time.

  Someone rapped at the door. Before I had a chance to say anything, it flew open. An older sistah stood there, taking up almost all the room in the doorway. Not necessarily because she was so big—and don’t get me wrong, she was big—but because so much personality exploded from her and filled up the rest of the space.

  Her hot pink T-shirt read “Kiss the Cook.” Her hair suffered from a bad dye job and sported about five different shades: red, blond, orange, and brown, with a little black at the roots. She held a plate of food that smelled so good I started salivating.

  “Come on, girl, I made you some fried apples and chicken. You done slept the day straight through.” She didn’t just talk. Her voice blared with the force of a trumpet. Almost made my hair blow back. “They told me you wasn’t no bigger than a minute. By the time I finish wit’chu, you gon’ be big as me.”

  I stood there, blinking in shock.

  “Come on! You ain’t deaf. I ain’t gon’ sign it for you. Follow me!”

  I snapped to and scurried behind her like Jesus Himself had called. I had to hustle to keep up with her while she talked the whole time.

  “I’m Penny Pop.”

  I smiled at the irony.

  She didn’t miss a beat.

  “After we eat we gon’ do something ’bout that head o’ yourn. Honey, that boy done brought you home. You gots to be pretty for him. And he got good hair! You can’t be ’round here looking like Whoopi Goldberg. I ain’t sayin’ her hair ain’t right. I’m just sayin’ … you can’t be ’round here lookin’ like her. We some Vivica Fox kind of womens, you and me.”

  She patted her awful hair.

  “My real name Georgette, but folk been callin’ me Penny since I was little.”

  She used to be little?

  When she walked her butt swung up and down—east and west, east and west—I could hardly keep up with her. For a big girl she sho’ could move.

  “Why do they call you Penny?”

  She stopped her perpetual motion. “I don’t know. It don’t sound nothin’ like Georgette, do it? I don’t think much about it now.”

  The bicoastal swinging started up again, and off we went through the house, ending up in the kitchen—which smelled heavenly.

  Penny Pop busied herself getting me settled at the table. She placed my plate in front of me like a waitress at a diner.

  I picked up my fork and was ready to dive in when she put her soft hand on my arm. “We don’t eat till we pray ’round here.”

  I bowed my head.

  “Jesus wept,” she said. “Now eat. I don’t believe it take all day to bless the food. That Frankie? Let him say grace, and we there forty-five minutes. Mother Nicole ain’t no better. She got to say the Lord’s Prayer and ’bout ninety-nine Lord, have mercies. Food be cold by then.”

  I stifled a laugh and dove into the fried apples, smothered chicken and rice, string beans—and not the kind that comes out of a can—and corn on the cob drenched in butter and salt.

  I stole some looks at Penny Pop while she engaged in her busywork around the cozy and homey kitchen. Mismatched styles cozy. I liked it. She looked like she was in her early fifties but hadn’t grown all the way up—in a good way. She seemed like the kind of person you’d want to sit next to at a party. Shoot. Penny Pop was the party.

  “This food is tastin’ so good, Penny Pop.”

  “Girl, I put my foot in that chicken. You might taste a lil’ toe jam in the gravy.”

  I paused a moment, my chicken-loaded fork hovering over the plate, trying not to think about Penny Pop’s toe jam. That’s when Penny’s sound track of continuous gossip began. She plunged herself onto one of the chairs at the table so she faced me, giving me the scoop on everybody, whether or not my inquiring mind wanted to know.

  First, the man of the house.

  “The old man? Miguel? That’s Father Rivera. Now he’s sick. He got cancer, God bless him. And it don’t look like he got long to live. He don’t do much no more. Medicine make him sleep most the time. Which is good, ’cause baaaaby, that’s one cranky old man.”

  “For real?”

  “Yeah, girl. He don’t know how blessed he is that he got Frankie to help him. Lord only knows why that boy wanna do that kinda
work. Look like to me he tryna take it over. But the old man won’t have nuthin’ to do wit’ it. See, Frankie ain’t Catholic just yet, an’ Father Miguel don’t believe nobody but a priest with the authority of the Church—wit’ a capital ‘C,’ baby—can cast the devil out no way. An exorcist in spuh-cific.”

  “What about what the Bible says about the signs following them that believe? Doesn’t that mean all believers can cast out demons?”

  “He say only priests can do exorcism. That’s on a whole ’nother level. Tho’ other folk can pray for deliverance. And Miguel don’t move from that. Umm-um. And po’ Frankie, he wanna be just like that man when he grow up, ’cept he wanna be better than him. Only Father Rivera don’t want him to be.”

  I stabbed at my string beans. “So do he and Francis get along?”

  “Francis?”

  “I mean Frankie.”

  “Girl, naw they don’t get along. That old cuss can’t get along wit’ nobody but me and Mother Nicole, and that’s only ’cause we don’t take nothin’. Frankie too busy tryna please him. He wanna be a priest, you know.”

  “He wants to be a priest?” I almost choked on my corn. I got to coughin’, and Penny Pop got to smackin’ me on my back like she was Bamm-Bamm on The Flintstones.

  I couldn’t stop her from pounding on me because I was too busy choking to death. I leapt from the chair and grabbed my water to try and drink some, but Penny Pop grabbed my arm and waved it over my head, slinging me around so she could knock my rib cage across the room. My water sloshed a tidal wave over me, until finally I got myself right. “Priest? What do you mean he wants to be a priest?”

  Penny Pop started stroking my hair and loving on me as if she hadn’t been trying to kill me two seconds ago. “You all right, baby? You need some more water?”

  “You mean a priest like a don’t-ever-get-married Catholic priest?”

  “Umm-hmm. Fine as that boy is. You know that’s gon’ break some women’s hearts.”

  “I think it’s breaking mine!”

  I started feeling warm all of a sudden. I wished I could whip off layers of clothes, but I only had my black baby-doll T-shirt and the Apple Bottoms I had on last night. It would be a bad idea to be standing in the kitchen in my drawers.

  “I don’t feel good, Penny Pop.”

  “What’s wrong, baby?”

  “One of my possible futures just got significantly less interesting. With fewer people in it. It’s minus one fine bro’ and my babies. Oh, Lord! All my babies are gone!”

  She started laughing. “Girl you ain’t thinkin’ ’bout no babies right now.”

  “I know! Shoot. But yo, our potential was the bomb! I’m all messed up over here now. Emme Vaughn can’t have no ghetto Thorn Birds babies. That ain’t right, Penny Pop.” I shook my head trying to get her foul news outta my head. “I was just startin’ to think that maybe there might be some brotha worth dreamin’ about out here. But Emme Vaughn don’t dream about priests.”

  “Well, don’tchu go givin’ up yet,” she said, chuckling so hard she wiped tears with a corner of her apron.

  “You’re laughing, but he was starting to look good to me. My arms are too short to box with God. If I had some normal competition, sistah to sistah, I could probably hold it down, but I can’t stand between him and God.”

  “Girl, you ain’t got to stand between him and God. The boy is ’bout meant to be a Catholic priest as I am, and we all know it. He’s a young man who got a daddy wound is all. He needs male attention. Maybe he needs you to show him he ain’t called. Maybe that’s why you here, lil’ sis, ’cause he sho’ ain’t brought nobody else home.”

  “Naw, that ain’t why I’m here.”

  “Well, we’ll see, won’t we? Don’t you worry yo’ pretty head about it.”

  I got back to eating the great food, and Penny Pop started cleaning up the water I’d spilled in her immaculate kitchen.

  “And Mother Nicole,” she says as though we had no interruption, “she ain’t even no Catholic. She one of them Eastern Orthodox nuns. She and Father Rivera is old friends, and she here for his hospice care.”

  “Yeah, uh, Frankie told me he’s dying, like, soon.”

  “Girl, I don’t wanna claim that. I’m just tellin’ you why she here, spuh-cific. She had to get special permission from her head nun or Mother Superior or somethin’. Chile, I forget what they call ’em. I can’t hardly see the difference between the Catholics and the Orthodoxes no way, but them two’ll stay up all night arguing about filioque or cloissione—sump’in. I forget what. They love each other to death, though.”

  She whirled around doing this and that, and a whole lot of nothing. “She been involved with the work ever since Frankie recruited her. That boy is crazy ’bout her. He ain’t had no mother love since his mama died. And Mama Nick got the discernment of spirits, too. She be done cut right through yo’ garbage. That woman is real. That’s what make her an excellent nurse, nun, and certified addictions counselor.”

  “Dang. That’s tight.”

  “Yeah. She the bomb.”

  “No wonder Francis—I mean, Frankie likes her so much.”

  “Umm-hmm. Now, tell me about you. Like I said, Frankie don’t bring nobody here. He takes they butt right to the Detroit Rescue Mission. And that boy gave up his bed? Umm-umm-umm.” She wagged her head as if in wonderment. “Y’all gon’ fall in love. I’m telling you, I knows stuff. Now go’ne and tell me ’bout yo’self. I can see you gorgeous. What else ’bout you made him brave enough to bring you home to the ol’ man?”

  “Ain’t nothin’ special about me, Penny Pop. I found myself in a bad situation last night, and he was nice enough to help me out.”

  She turned around and looked me up and down. “Honey, I done told you, he slips folks in a bad situation a bill and takes ’em to the Detroit Rescue Mission or COTS. He don’t bring ’em home. Baby, you got something Frankie wants.”

  “He wants me for the work.”

  “The work is almost over, baby. That’s gon’ go with Father Miguel. I’m thinkin’ it ain’t the work.”

  Shoot. She made me think that maybe this was about more than me seeing demons. And for the first time in my life, I liked the thought of something like that. “I wish I knew what it was he asked me here for Penny Pop,” I said. “And I ain’t never lied about that.”

  As I finished eating, Penny Pop got started on my head. I usually like natural styles, but she wasn’t havin’ it. That woman washed, blow-dried, flat-ironed, and curled the ends of my hair faster than I could say “cornrows.” Had my junk hanging down my back as silky and straight as it used to look when my mama did it.

  Now we were kickin’ it at the kitchen table, Penny Pop chattering away, until she suddenly stopped mid-sentence. She started humming some kind of Negro spiritual or something, and I tried to figure out what was up with the behavioral change. It finally occurred to me that she probably had that gossip thing down to, like, a science, and she knew when somebody was about to bust in on the session.

  The door opened and Francis held it so this frail-looking old Latino man could enter. He was fair-skinned and wore all black with a white clerical collar. I could tell Francis was a little bit nervous about introducing me, and I thought, Dang, I only slept here for a few hours. It wasn’t even my idea to come. Don’t you worry none, Francis. I’ll be on my way as soon as I can get up outta here.

  But the old dude, he, like, froze when he looked at me. Gasped. I wondered if he was sucking his last breath.

  Francis ignored it and said, “Father Miguel Rivera, this is Miss Emme Vaughn.”

  Before I could formulate the right thing to say he went off!

  He yelled like I was a ghost, and not the Holy one. “¿Qué maldad es ésta? Has traído a hogar tu madre.” Then he practically collapsed into Francis’s arms.

  “No, Padre,” Francis said, but the man still looked faint, like something about me made him feel worse than he did before he walked into the room.
/>   I looked at Penny Pop. Her eyes told me everything would be okay, but I felt like pond scum.

  The old man started sobbing, “¡Dios mio! ¡Ella es la imagen de tu madre!” His body quaked and heaved with emotion.

  Tears came to my eyes. An’ I didn’t even know what I was supposed to be cryin’ about.

  Francis tried to hustle the man out of the kitchen. But Father Rivera pulled himself together, as though embarrassed by his outbursts. He straightened up, spun around, and stormed out—in a feeble way—shouting at Francis, “¡Ella no puede permanecer aquí! ¡Ella debe ir!”

  It sounded like Francis argued with him. “Por favor darte una ocasión, Papi. Ella no tiene dondequiera ir.”

  He shot me a quick look before they went down the hall. I didn’t know what to say. I looked at Penny Pop. “What was that all about?”

  “I don’t know, girl. He went straight up Ricky Ricardo on you. I know one thing, I ain’t seen him upset like that in a long time.”

  “Could you make out any of the words?”

  “I know madre mean mama. Papi and padre mean Daddy. That’s about it. I don’t speak no Spanish. The old man mostly speaks in English. He only go off like that when he mad. You got some extra bad trouble wit’ yo’ mama and daddy, lil’ sis?”

  “That’s an understatement. But why would that make him so upset?”

  “I don’t know what that there was about. But I’m sho’ gon’ find out.”

  “You find out all you want, Penny Pop,” I said. “I’m ’bout to bounce.”

  I still had forty bones. That was forty more than I started with. Somehow I’d figure out the rest.

  I could hear Mother Nicole and Francis in the living room tryna calm the old bro’ down. I was pretty upset myself. I told Penny Pop to tell them I said thanks for everything, but I’m out.

  The best thing about traveling light is that I didn’t have to pack when I left.

  I wanted to say good-bye to Francis, and even Mother Nicole. I’d never met a nun, and she was kinda fun. But I couldn’t forge no attachments. I needed to fortify myself to survive in the streets again. Out there you can’t get too close to nobody, and you couldn’t trust folks as far as you could throw ’em.