The Exorsistah

by Claudia Mair Burney

  I glanced around the living room. I could smell Penny Pop’s cooking coming from the kitchen. Francis sat in the wing-backed chair, dressed in his uniform of black jeans and a black T-shirt. He had his onyx rosary beads in his hand, praying.

  From the looks of it, he’d gone through most of the decades already and was making his way back to the cross. I waited, fol­ lowing along in my mind as he softly spoke the words, Hail holy queen, Mother of mercy … Then he gave Mary some more mother love.

  A few moments later, he kissed the crucifix, and said, “Amen.”

  “Good morning,” I croaked. I didn’t have much voice left after the scream-fest last night.

  “Hey,” he said. “You hungry?”

  “No king’s bread for me. I’m tryna cut down.”

  He came to me and sat down on the floor by the sofa. Took my hand in his. “You can eat anything you want to, X. You know this.”

  “I should fast breakfast, Francis. If I had been doin’ that, maybe I could have whupped those things myself.”

  “You’re not listening to me, X. No fasting breakfast! After last night, you need sustenance. Eat whatever is put before you. Penny’s in there making you a feast, as per Father Miguel’s instructions.”

  I sat up on the sofa and adjusted the cover around my legs. As soon as I was done, I reached for Francis’s hand, which got a shy smile out of him, but he held it.

  My thoughts turned serious. “I used to think I had at least some power. Last night I dreamed of Kiki, and that’s exactly what she said to me. I had power. Then I woke up to a butt-kickin’. They caught me without my boots on!”

  “I told you those boots wouldn’t help you.”

  “They could if I’m wearing them with attitude! And even if they couldn’t help, at least I would have looked and felt fly.”

  “Those devils must have thought you looked real good. Good enough to eat! Or worse, if Father Miguel hadn’t intervened.”

  “I’m sorry, Francis.”

  “You don’t have anything to be sorry about. I probably let something in with those books and that DVD. I’m the one who’s sorry. So please eat. Let me protect you.”

  I let go of his hand to pick up the charm hanging around my neck and examine it. I figured the necklace was probably another way for him to protect me. The charm depicted a little man on one side and a cross that was shaped more like a plus sign, with a bunch of letters inscribed on it on the other side. “Did you put this charm on me?”

  “Yes, I did, but it’s not a charm. It’s a jubilee cross.”

  “What’s it for?”

  Francis got on his knees and reached for the medal, grazing my fingers as he took it in his hand. Even though we’d been holding hands, I still felt jolts of energy at his touch. He didn’t tug on the medal, but I felt the gentle tension as the chain pulled against my neck. He knelt before me as if he were a beggar, the chain between us. So close to me.

  “I’ll tell you a story about Benedict of Nursia. He was a very holy man, sometimes hated by the people in his own monastic order. They were lazy men who didn’t like his strict rule of life. At one point the monks in the order got so mad at him that they poisoned his wine. When he blessed the wine the pitcher shattered like a stone struck it. In the Catholic tradition, if a medal cross of St. Benedict has had exorcism blessings applied to it by a Benedictine priest, it has power over evil, storms, pestilences, and the devil’s lesions. I wear it all the time.”

  “I can’t keep this.”

  “I’ll get another one, Chiara. I want you to keep this one. It means a lot to me.”

  “Why is that?”

  “My father gave it to me.” He released the medal and let it fall back in place against my chest.

  “Francis, you can’t give me something that special.”

  “You’re more special to me than he is.” He sat back down, Indian style this time. Sighed. “Speaking of you being special …”

  The hitch in my breath and my accelerating heartbeat only served to remind me of how much I wanted him to like me. I didn’t know what he’d say. Only what I’d hoped he’d say.

  “Chiara, I know we haven’t known each other but a few days.”

  “Right.”

  “But you have a way of gettin’ under a brotha’s skin.”

  I nodded.

  “I know you have trouble trusting, and I haven’t made that no easier. But I really want you to stay a little while longer. No pressure. Just rest, and be at peace.”

  “I don’t have that kind of time. I’m on a mission now.”

  He ran his hand through his curls. Looked frustrated as all get-out. “Just hear me out, Emme. The longer I’m around you, the more I see how special you are. You’re blessed. And I’m not sure what I should … I guess what I’m saying is … Emme …” He sighed. “I want to …”

  “What? You’re driving me crazy! Just say it.”

  “I know I said I want to be a priest. And I do, but I was thinking maybe …”

  Okay, he ain’t sayin’ what I thought he was gon’ say. I said too loudly, “What?”

  “I mean, you’re here for a reason, right?”

  “So I’ve been told.”

  “I was thinking that maybe you and I should explore … slowly … the possibility of—”

  Right at that moment Father Rivera burst into the room.

  Dang! I mean, I know the man practically saved my life. But a sistah needed to hear what Francis had to say! Then again, I didn’t know if hookin’ up was what Francis had in mind or not. God only knows. He might have asked me to be his prayer partner or something.

  I was glad to see Father Rivera looking a little more rested and energetic. “Ah. I see you’re up! Buenos días, Emme.”

  “Good morning, sir. If it’s still morning.”

  “Close enough,” he said. Suddenly his Spanish accent sounded so cute to me. I was gonna have to ask Francis to teach me some words so I could use a little ghetto Spanglish myself.

  Father Rivera sat on the wing-backed chair. I guess his presence made Francis uncomfortable. He got up from the floor and sat in the reclining chair opposite the priest.

  We sat there in awkward silence for a few moments until Father Rivera blurted, “Emme?”

  “Yes, Father Rivera?”

  “Tell me. Who is the fat lady who appeared in my dream and told me you were going to save Jamilla’s life?”

  Apparently I was gonna need all the prayer lessons I could get. Stuff was startin’ to jump so fast at the All Souls parish house that only the strong would survive. And I didn’t mean strong in body, though that could help as well, as the three holy children in the “seven times hotter” furnace could attest to.

  Francis just sat there, no doubt trippin’ about what Father Rivera asked me.

  I didn’t know how the old man would take Kiki, and he had offended me to boot calling her fat.

  “Look, I know she’s a big girl, but I don’t appreciate you calling her fat like that.”

  He looked at me like I was insane. “Fat? The woman must have weighed six hundred pounds. She was enormous. How could anybody get that size and be sensitive about being called fat?”

  I made my indignation clear through my raised voice. “Five hundred and ten! And she is sensitive, a’ight! She’s got her faults, but I don’t know a person more prayerful than Kiki. She can’t walk but a few feet anymore, so she lies in bed interceding for everybody.”

  “Who is this woman?”

  “Her name is Kiki Banner. She’s the one I stayed with before I came here.” I know I sounded like a petulant child, but I couldn’t help it. “She kept me off the street. For almost a year, she covered me in prayer, and I didn’t have to worry about anything. And she was there for me. All I had to do was take care of her, cook, help her get to the bathroom.”

  “And what was she doing in my dream saying you were going to save Jamilla’s life?”

  “I don’t know how she got in your dream. She was in mine
, too. In my dream she told me she knew I was going to need my ID. Next thing I know, Francis is picking it up off the night table. I had left it at her house when I had to leave … suddenly.”

  Father Rivera slowly shook his head. “Amazing.”

  Francis repeated, “Amazing!” I looked at him. I couldn’t believe how alike they really were.

  Father Rivera’s voice snapped me out of my reverie. “I haven’t heard of anyone with that charism since Blessed Padre Pio was alive. She must be a saint.”

  “She is in my book. She isn’t perfect—”

  “The saints weren’t perfect. They were pure of heart. There’s a difference. What else did she say? How is Jamilla’s life threatened?”

  “I don’t know. She didn’t tell me.”

  “I need something better than that. Otherwise, why did she go through the trouble?”

  I looked at Francis. He was not smiling. I had a distinct feeling that somehow he knew I hadn’t disclosed everything I dreamed. If he did, he didn’t say a word.

  He’d only end up on my case about it later. I went ahead and ’fessed up. “She said I have to be at the exorcism.”

  Father Rivera rolled his eyes. “Why?”

  “I’m ’sposed to see something everybody else is gon’ miss. And whatever it is, is gonna kill her if I’m not there.”

  Father Rivera stood. “You have no reason to be at an exorcism. You won’t provide physical strength. You are not a medical doctor. You are not a monastic in ceaseless prayer who I would trust with my very life. You will not be there, Emme. The dream didn’t impress me that much.”

  Penny Pop sashayed in, hips swinging from side to side. “Come on in this kitchen,” her trumpet voice blasted. “Chile, I made you my demon-bustin’ brunch. I’ma put so much meat on yo’ ribs today, the devil try to touch you, he gon’ put his hands on solid muscle. And we going let the good priest bless the food today. We ain’t takin’ no chances. Can’t let the devil do whatever he wanna do. We gon’ fight back, and fight dirty.”

  Now Francis got up. “Fight back and fight dirty sounds like a plan, Penny Pop,” he said, but he looked right at me.

  I hear you, bro’.

  We ate the king’s bread and much, much more. Penny Pop put her foot, ankle, and part of her leg in the food this time. We all ate heartily, and Penny Pop even joined us, but a somber mood pervaded the table.

  Francis didn’t say much to me while we ate, which worried me. He almost always went out of his way to make me feel safe.

  I didn’t feel so safe.

  After our brunch, Mother Nicole and I collected dishes. We insisted on Penny Pop resting after making such a lavish spread.

  “Why don’t you go sleep in Frankie’s room, Penny Pop?” I teased.

  That trumpet voice sounded and nearly blew Mother Nicole’s hair covering off. “Chiiiiiile, my mama told me before I could even get a whiff a boys, ‘Don’t be layin’ down wit’ the devil.’ I know that ain’t what she meant, but I can’t be up in there with no eeen-que-bye! I be done said bye. Devil tryna take yo’ clothes off. Mercy Jesus Father God glory! I can’t take it. Lord a mercy, Father Jesus Holy Ghost!” After all that she spoke in tongues. I think. “Hiyayayayayaya!”

  She stopped abruptly. Suddenly looked at us. “You want me to make you a 7UP cake? I need ta bake. Y’all ’bout to wear out my nerves dealing with devils and eeen-que-byes and such. Who ever heard a such a thang?”

  “I don’t want a 7UP cake, Penny Pop. I gotta work off all the calories in the spread you just served. You go lie down on the sofa, then. We not gon’ let no incubi get you.”

  Her hips, working as hard as pistons in an automobile, carried her hefty body into the living room. All the while she walked she was praying in that wacky way of hers. “Wooooooooo! Mercy Jesus Glory Father God, You got to help us! We can’t have no demons tryna take the babies’ clothes … Lord! Father Holy Ghost Spirit of God Jesus, mercy!”

  Mother Nicole and I looked at each other and laughed.

  “She’s a live one, isn’t she?” Mama Nick’s pragmatic voice was in stark contrast to Penny Pop’s, yet her hazel eyes shone with admiration for her.

  “She sho’ is, Mother Nicole. I’m gonna miss her when I’m gone.”

  Francis came from behind me. “Maybe you won’t go.”

  I didn’t know what to say. Francis took the dish towel and plate Mother Nicole was holding in her hand. “You rest too, Mama Nick. You kept the night watch in prayer last night. Go get some sleep. I got this. If Father Miguel needs anything, I’ll hook him up.”

  She flicked a “look” at him. Mama Nick didn’t miss nothing. She knew he was tryna get some time with me.

  He answered her look with a guilty grin. “I got this, ma,” he said.

  “I’m sure you do, lovie.”

  I filled the sink with soapy water. Francis worked quietly beside me, as if he wasn’t gonna start running his mouth.

  I broke the ice to help him out. “You play the harp beautifully.”

  “Thank you, X.” He didn’t mince words about anything else. “The exorcism is in about two weeks. You in, or no?”

  “Your daddy said no.”

  “What do you say?”

  “I say that doesn’t give you much time to train me.”

  “Or much time to pray.”

  I stopped washing dishes for a moment. Took a deep breath. Got real. “I’ve never known Kiki to be wrong. Not when she’s comin’ this hard. Not when somebody’s life is at stake.”

  “So are you in?”

  I sighed like him and his daddy. “I’m in. Teach me everything you know.”

  “Wear your kick-butt boots,” he said.

  I ended up doing all the dishes. I didn’t see him again that day.

  The next morning I jumped on the number 200 bus to Detroit and deposited myself on Woodward Avenue. I wasted no time hustling myself down the street to Hotep Books.

  It was like every other black bookstore I’d ever seen. Not quite as good as the Shrine of the Black Madonna, but holdin’ it down.

  I browsed the racks, seeing everything except for what, or who, I wanted to see. A cinnamon-brown—skinned woman with a big Pam Grier as Foxy Brown Fro asked me if I needed help. I took a risk and went for what my instincts told me. “Is Asa working today?”

  “He’s in the back. I’ll get him.”

  I’m not sure what I expected when I saw him. Francis kinda spoiled me with the fineness, so he had to bring it to compete with him. This brotha stepped out of the back room, or wherever he was, lookin’ like the finest thing God ever made.

  I blinked. And blinked again. What in the world?

  Naw, he wasn’t of this world. Bro’ looked like he stepped out of the heavenlies. Dark brown honey–colored, with a face chiseled like a master sculpture made him. Tall as Francis, but with more meat on him. Muscles that made you wanna grab him. And he wasn’t some lil’ kid. He had to be older than Francis. I know Jamilla had to know that. He was way too much man.

  His eyes flickered over me. In that way. “Hotep,” he said.

  I knew that meant peace. “Hey,” I said. I may have known it meant peace, but I’d just say peace if that’s what I wanted to say. I wasn’t sure I came in peace. “Are you Asa?”

  “I am. Do I know you, sistah?” He eased closer, and his scent, unlike anything I’d ever smelled, filled me. Almost made my toes curl in my diva boots, in a good way!

  “Somebody told me you’re the brother to talk to about …” I had to say this carefully. Santeria was a secret society. “African spirituality.”

  His beautiful face looked pleased. Opened like a flower. I thought about Francis. Black prince pansy. And I didn’t see no pansy in Asa.

  He gestured with a jerk of his head toward one of the aisles, and took me right to a “spirituality” section.

  “Anything specific?” he asked.

  “I’m curious. I like the Roman Catholic Church, but I want something a little more expressive
.”

  He didn’t flinch. Acted like I came in just for him. “Have you studied Yoruba culture?”

  “A little.”

  “You might like Santeria.”

  When he said the word, I felt my bones turn liquid. As much as I was feelin’ Francis, this bro’ made it an effort to remember Francis’s name.

  He leaned against the shelf hovering over me, drawing me in like the proverbial moth to the flame. For real.

  I cleared my throat to clear my head. “I heard that was kinda secretive. I need a place I can practice my spirituality boldly. You know?”

  He said, “Ummmmmm,” like he moaned it. It wasn’t like somebody saying, “Hmmm.” Like when they think. This was way different. That ummmmmm vibrated through me, and it felt like I had never heard such a compelling sound. Not even in Francis’s music.

  Lord, what the heck is going on?

  A half smile, bright as movie star’s, crept across his face. “How old are you, Miss …”

  “Emme Vaughn.” I found myself saying, “I’m old enough to handle whatever you recommend.”

  I had to check Emme Vaughn.

  Wait just one minute here, sistah.

  “And what will your man think about your sudden interest in whatever I recommend?” he asked.

  “I’m a solo artist.”

  You’re a what, girl? But I couldn’t help myself.

  “Do you ever consider collaborating?” he asked smooth as silk.

  “Depends on how good the other artist is,” some evil thing said in my voice.

  What? Emme have you lost your mind?

  “You must be good yourself.”

  “I can be bad, too.”

  Okay. I needed to wash my mouth out with … holy water.

  He put his hands on a Santeria book. Didn’t pull it off the shelf. “I think I’ve got what you’re looking for, but it’s not for babies.”

  “I’m not a baby.”

  “Good.” He put his face near mine. “We’ll need to talk somewhere private. Are you free for dinner sometime?”

  Bro’ had me mesmerized. Jamilla was toast, if she even tried to mess with him. I was getting singed around the edges, and I came in with a plan.