Marie looked to Aaron for an explanation. His eyes were purposefully blank.
“My grandsons take care of me. Good care.” Nana felt for the bed’s edge. Marie helped lift and swing Nana’s legs, then covered her with a blanket. Like a skilled nurse, Aaron unclipped the portable oxygen, clipped the permanent machine’s tubing to her nose.
Marie looked back at the coal stove, the flaming lamp and unscreened fireplace. Portables were always hazardous; but a full oxygen system increased the danger astronomically. Any good doctor would have disallowed home use.
Aaron rubbed alcohol on the top of Nana’s hand, then inserted a needle, linked to the IV, into a vein.
“What is it?” Marie pointed at the tubing.
“Saline,” said Aaron.
“To prevent dehydration,” Marie murmured.
“Nothing but the best for Nana,” said Deet, lovingly stroking Nana’s hair.
“I keep telling my grandsons I ain’t afraid of dying. It’s as natural as living.”
Marie lifted a bottle from the nightstand. Codeine. Then lifted another. Tramadol. Weak opiates, usually the first wave of pain management. Then, the stronger opiates to relieve cancer pain. Oxycodon, fentanyl. Slow-release tablets of morphine. It was improbable that a doctor would prescribe them all.
“You’ve got a pharmacy here,” she murmured.
“All I need is cod-liver oil,” replied Nana. “And my water.”
On the nightstand’s bottom shelf was a glass brimming with water. Behind it was a small crèche of voodoo gods. Legba; a voodoo St. Peter; and Damballah, the snake god, were fashioned from clay. Marie recognized Erzulie, the goddess of love. Long hair, with bright red lips, she was kin to the mythic Venus. The other two spirits she didn’t recognize. Blunt clay figurines: one was painted black, with black flowing hair, but it was a breasted figure with a penis, a creature not fully male or female. Some ancient totem? She felt compelled to hold the statue, as if it were calling her name.
She picked it up.
Blind Nana seemed to be watching her.
The statue burned in her hand, transforming itself: first, female, two breasted; next, male, flat chest, with a penis. Then it settled into what it was—double sexed. Both male and female.
Unsettled, she set the figure down.
The other figurine was decidedly female, painted teal, with lush breasts, but it didn’t have any legs. The limbs were fused, like a mermaid’s. Beneath the statues was another mirror, making it seem as if both figures were floating on water. In front of them were a small pitcher, a glass, and a blue bowl of water. Marigold petals floated in the bowl. Marigolds were the Virgin’s flower. But they also symbolized grief, a woman’s sorrow.
Marie stooped, feeling latent energy in the figurines, the echo of spirits.
She lifted the glass.
Nana, sensing her motion, said, “Water ain’t for drinking. Slide the glass ’neath my bed. ’Neath my pillow, too.”
“Like this?”
“That’s just how she likes it,” said Deet, on his knees, peeking under the metal frame.
“Connects me to the ancestors,” said Nana.
Marie stood, clasping Nana’s hand. “Water helps the ancestors move from their world to yours.”
“Yes, yes. They visit me in dreams.” Nana swallowed a moan.
“You’re in pain,” said Marie.
“Make no mind about me.” Nana clutched Marie’s T-shirt. “I’ve got so many things to tell you,” she responded, her blind eyes fixed on Marie. “So many things to hear. I want to hear about you. Your journey. How you got here. Not just here. But back to Louisiana. The faith.”
“You should rest, Nana.”
“You rest, Aaron. Worry, worry, worry.” Nana slapped the air, as if she could banish his worries like flies.
“I’ll be here in the morning,” said Marie, softly, locking the bedrail in place. “We can talk then.”
Aaron nodded thankfully.
“Sleep now?” asked Nana, her voice wavering.
“Yes.”
“Dream?” asked Nana, her voice reed thin, like a child’s.
“Yes. Only good dreams.”
“You’ll make them good?”
Marie doubted she could, her own dreams were filled with trauma; nonetheless, she nodded, smoothing Nana’s brow.
“You’re the promised savior. Because of you, everything transforms, changes.”
Marie was startled. Speculatively, Aaron stared at her, making her feel uneasy. As if she were an adversary, not a friend.
Deet only grinned.
Nana exhaled, letting her body go limp as Aaron pressed a button that caused the bed to unfold and lie flat.
The sheets and blanket were stretched tight. Marie bit the inside of her mouth, tasting blood. Nana’s abdomen was swollen, as if she were newly pregnant with a misplaced child.
“Do you mind?” Marie kept her voice calm, noncommittal. She looked at Aaron. He nodded.
She laid her hands on Nana’s abdomen, feeling the thickening of skin beneath bed sheets and cotton nightgown.
“Naw, child.” Nana, her dead eyes fixed on the ceiling, lifted Marie’s hands. “Don’t worry about healing this. Just is. My time.”
“Tumor? May I see?”
Nana nodded. Marie unbuttoned the nightgown. She swallowed a gasp.
Nana’s stomach was distended, but thick veins, cords bluish-purple, crossed beneath flesh. She’d never seen anything like it. As if the veins were both nurturing and containing an unborn creature, as if something inside Nana were wrapped in stasis or else transforming.
Aaron kept watching Nana. Deet studied the floor.
“Was it biopsied?” Marie asked.
“Cancer,” responded Aaron, quickly.
Marie cocked her head. What wasn’t he saying?
“Nana, may I touch?”
“Your touch would be a grace.”
Marie probed the skin; then she tapped the flesh, listening for depth. The texture was uneven, not solid like typical tumors. Rather, there seemed to be multiple tumors. Hundreds of them. Some were wide and deep; others shallow. Fingers trembling, she buttoned Nana’s gown. She’d never seen or read anything about a rash of tumors concentrated in one place. There’d been people with multiple tumors—brain, liver, abdomen. But Nana seemed pregnant with a world of hurt.
She stroked the old woman’s brow. “Nana, you should be in the hospital. You can’t heal cancer here.”
“You’d be surprised by what you can do, Miz Marie,” murmured Nana.
“You need chemo, pain management. Radiation.”
Nana sucked her toothless gums. Her head turned, her eyes staring past Marie. “A Voodoo Queen with full power can heal anything. Faith healing, faith healers. Some kiss poisonous snakes; some use prayer; some, like Christ, raise the dead. But every healing has a cost. I’m ready to go. All used up.”
Then, abruptly, Nana lifted herself onto her elbows, flailing a hand toward Marie. Marie grabbed her hand. Nana clutched harder, her nails digging into Marie’s wounds. “Remember—every healing has a cost. You’re young now,” she said, hoarsely, “but you need to parcel out your power, strength. Each miracle ages. Takes. I won’t ask you to give. One day, you’ll be like me—not much left.” Exhausted, she fell back onto the pillows, her chest heaving.
“Sleep, Nana.” Aaron kissed her brow.
“Yes. Sleep. Rest,” said Marie, her voice unsteady.
Deet lifted the pug off the floor.
“Beau. That you?” asked Nana. “That you? Beau?”
Beau circled three times then plopped down, curling himself against Nana. As if Beau were a sleeping draft, Nana closed her eyes and sighed, her lips upturned into a slight smile.
“Do you want me to sit with you?” asked Aaron.
“No, she is,” responded Nana.
“I’d be happy to,” said Marie, reassuringly.
“No, the other one.”
Marie raised her bro
ws.
El stood at the head of the bed.
Nana, eyes still closed, chuckled. “Being blind doesn’t mean I can’t see.”
“What does she mean?” asked Deet.
“She’s got a spirit with her,” said Marie, watching the two brothers. Neither seemed surprised. Marie marveled. Clearly the two had been raised as believers.
“It’s a good spirit?” asked Deet.
“The best,” said Marie, smiling at El, feeling more at ease.
“That’s what she deserves. The best.” Aaron caressed Nana’s brow. Deet kissed her cheek. Beau snored.
Marie was deeply moved by Aaron and Deet, their big hands gently stroking Nana, patting Beau. Aaron laid an extra blanket on top of both, tucking it beneath Nana’s chin, over Beau’s feet. Saying good night was a bittersweet ritual. Any night, the brothers knew Nana might not wake in the morning.
“It is what it is,” murmured Nana before turning onto her side, facing El.
Marie couldn’t breathe. It was unsettling to hear Nana repeating El’s words. She walked quickly, opening the screen door, and stepped onto the porch. Grief burned in her mouth.
Buoys, tolling in the Gulf, sounded like church bells. She was as far south as she could go.
A firefly blinked, darted, then disappeared. From inside the house, she heard the grandsons’ voices—more bass timbre than words.
A sea haze was trying to swallow the moon.
Marie inhaled, letting the fog spiral deep into her lungs. She heard rumbling, then saw lightning pierce the sky. What did this day mean? Meeting Nana. A black haint, a will-o’-the-wisp—whatever it was, expanding, contracting—guiding? taunting her?—at the murder scene. Anatomically incorrect statues that seemed part of a prehistory, attuned to another world. Dreams of bodies floating downriver.
What did anything mean?
It was hot, the night filled with blood-sucking mosquitoes. An old woman was dying and she needed shawls and blankets to still the cold overtaking her body.
The screen door opened. Aaron gently pushed Deet onto the porch. “Go on back to jail, Deet. Baylor’s gonna need his wake-up call.”
“How come you always stay? Have fun?”
“Fun? Viewing a murdered mother and child? If you think you’re ready to be sheriff, go on. Take my place.”
Deet brushed past Marie, grumbling, favoring his right knee, down the steps. “I wasn’t talking about that family. Talking about Miz Marie. Remember, I found her. I found her.”
“You found her,” said Aaron, his voice flat.
Marie looked quizzically at Aaron.
“My brother’s bright enough.” Aaron leaned against the porch post. “Just young. Lacks common sense.”
Something bothered her, like a fly buzzing inside her mind. “He damaged his knee at Tulane?”
“His head, too,” said Aaron, but Marie heard the joking undertone, the big brother complaining about his little brother.
Deet backed into the truck, butt first, then used his hands to pull his right leg inside. He pulled his left leg inside, then slammed the truck door.
“He hoped to turn pro. Get us out of this hellhole.” Sadness infused Aaron’s bones. Marie thought that if he smiled, he’d appear handsome. Warm brown skin, black hair, long eyelashes. But Aaron no longer seemed young. He had the weary air of someone much older. Of someone with a simmering bitterness that drained vitality. Of someone—guilty. As soon as she thought it, she knew it was true. Guilty? For what? About what?
Her thoughts didn’t make sense. Aaron was the sheriff—the good man charged with kindness, keeping the peace.
“Sheriff?”
He turned, straightening, his green eyes gazing into hers. Cat’s eyes.
Marie felt a connection. The understanding that both of them had suffered. Seen too much.
The truck’s headlights sliced across their bodies. Then the glare disappeared, replaced with blackness and red taillights, like a monster’s eyes, bouncing, retreating eerily down the battered road.
“All week, she’s been telling us you’d come,” Aaron said hoarsely. “Marie Laveau. The great Voodoo Queen. All she could talk about. Day, night, she wanted to stand on the porch, waiting, watching for you.”
“It must’ve been hard.”
“It was. Her sick and all.”
“I’m glad that I got to meet her. To see someone who’s lived,” she paused, feeling overwhelmed, “her life honoring the gods—”
“Nana’s done that. Said it was the one part of our African heritage that must survive—that had allowed us to survive. There’s no church in this town, only Nana. Church services she’s given right here.” His finger pointed at the yard. “Might not seem like much, but, here, on this dirt, she saved lives. Saved my brother and me when our father died. When our mother, her daughter, turned to heroin. I was eight, Deet barely four. Nana cared for us, the whole community. She stayed, healing, birthing babies, doing ceremonies where spirits rode her.”
“ ‘Monte shwal.’ Possession. ‘Riding the horse,’ so Haitians say.”
“Yes. This old yard has seen its miracles.” His voice swelled with pride, with gratitude for a childhood filled with miracles.
In the clearing, Marie saw afterimages of voodoo ceremonies dating back to slavery: spiritual ecstasy, swirling skirts, and drummers calling the gods. Here, women in white chanted; here men danced as Ogun, the warrior.
She saw Nana, young, standing tall, supplicants bowing, reaching for her hand, her touch.
“You love Nana,” she said.
“I’d do anything for her.” A shadow darted across his eyes. Aaron bent over the porch rail, his hands gripping the wood like a lifeline.
“Why not a hospital?”
“She won’t allow it. Won’t die anywhere but here. Won’t have anyone else care for her except me and Deet.”
“You know it’s going to get worse.”
“I know. Anything else you want to say?” he said, bitterly.
“I wasn’t criticizing. You know how to work the machinery. The EKG, the defibrillator.”
“I’ve learned.”
Marie hopped on her stronger ankle, reaching for the rocker.
Aaron clutched her hand, helping her to sit.
“Thanks.” Aaron was a contradiction—a smart man who believed in ghosts; a rational man led by sentiment.
“Smoke?” asked Aaron.
“Lung cancer, that’s your choice. But even out here, there’s a slim chance a spark might blow up the house. Worse, you might forget and light up inside.”
Aaron stuffed his Marlboros back into his shirt pocket. “Drink okay?”
“I’d love one.”
Aaron pulled a flask from his back pocket. “Want a glass? Some Coke?”
“It’s fine as is.” She clasped the tin, swallowed moonshine.
Handing back the flask, she asked, “Who’s Nana’s doctor?”
“Doesn’t have one.”
Her mind flashed back to the bottles—there’d been no record of a date, a pharmacy, a doctor. Just the potent medication.
“I didn’t steal the medicine, if that’s what you’re thinking.”
“I didn’t say you did. Are you reading my mind? Or is it just your intuition?”
“Intuition.”
“Deet said you didn’t believe I’d come. Didn’t believe Nana’s prophecy.”
“I believed. Just thought if I denied it, it wouldn’t happen.” He shifted, turning to face her, full on. “I didn’t want you to come.”
“I don’t understand.”
“No need to. You’re already here.” He offered her another swig of moonshine.
“No, thanks.” She watched him carefully, searching his expression for an underlying truth.
Aaron kept drinking, draining the flask.
Torches lit, she saw Nana, older, bent, while supplicants, desperate, clawed, reached for her hand. Her face was a mixture of love and pain. Nana stumbled, and followers, like
swarming ants, crawled over her, touching every surface of her body.
Marie didn’t understand. She’d seen two images of Nana—one vibrant, triumphant, but the tenor of the second was—what? Draining, unsettling? The circumstances seemed somehow inhumane. Her visions didn’t make sense.
Inexplicably, she thought: Was Nana’s blindness caused by a tumor? Or was it self-enforced?
Marie felt a cold, shrill breeze slapping her face.
She said, insistently, “You know none of the machines will keep Nana alive.” When Aaron didn’t answer, she added, “Only a narcotic drip will ease the final pain.”
“We’ve got that.”
“You’ve got powerful friends. Narcotics are banned outside a hospital or hospice care. You know they require on-sight medical supervision.”
Moonlight backlit Aaron’s body. His face was in shadow.
“What’s your payback, Aaron? What’ve you promised to do? Does the debt ever get paid?”
“I’ll go and investigate those murders.” His back was rigid. She’d pushed too hard, too soon.
Marie hopped down the steps. “I’m coming, too.”
“Nana can’t be left alone.” Aaron got into his black-and-white Buick. “Please.” He jutted his head through the open car window. “Stay with her.”
“You’re going to need help. It’s seven, maybe ten miles back. Off the main road, near three huge oaks. Have you got a forensic specialist? If not, you’re going to need NOPD’s resources.”
Aaron’s gaze was as vacant as Nana’s. Over the steering wheel, he stared straight ahead, at his family’s home. An open bag of pork rinds was on the passenger seat.
She cocked her head, her voice rising, “Did you hear me?” His stoicism grated. “You don’t like to ask for help?”
Aaron blinked, then started the engine. “Just don’t believe the city has all the answers.”
“Fair enough.”
“I’ll go to the scene. Figure things out.”
Aaron looked like the saddest person she’d ever seen.
“There’s a cot inside. I’ll be back by morning.”
“Good, I need to get back to the city.”
For the first time, Aaron smiled. “I’m not sure you’ll be finished.”
“With what? I’ve reported the crime.”
The Legend of Marie Laveau Mystery Trilogy Page 44